


Token Alliance

by Ook



Series: Token Gesture [2]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternative Universe- Fantasy, Brothels, Calm Down Erik, Charles You Will Be Adorable, Charles you will be a BAMF, Convenient Amnesia of the fanfic type, Erik You Will Be Awkward, F/M, Fantasy Medieval equivalent of therapy, Genosha, I just like that word really, It came from my brain, Lost Heirs and Brave Princessess, M/M, Past Abuse, Plots, Politics, Rape Recovery, Rescue, Royalty, Shaw You Will Be Creepy, Shenanigans, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 14:56:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 29
Words: 44,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ook/pseuds/Ook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All is well in the Island Kingdom of Genosha. King Darkholme sits on the throne of his ancestors.<br/>Safe in the protection of the King's Champion, Lord Sebastian Shaw, the  king prepares his daughter to reign after he passes the gates of life.<br/>Meanwhile, Charles Xavier learns how to be a free man, a hero, and Champion Elect. Erik Lensherr learns how to be a friend, and how to be more than a friend. And Lord Sebastian Shaw learns he may have made a mistake.</p><p>Part two of my (now with a name) AU series; in which everyone learns, if not to how to live Happily Ever After, then at least, happily. Apart from the villain(s) of the piece, who must adjust to their plans being stymied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The wind over the Palace practice fields is sharp and keen. That doesn’t matter to those learning or maintaining their skills at arms, but to the onlookers, it’s chilling. There are few of them there, and those that are, do not stay for long, apart from the Lady’s Swords or the members of the Palace Guard, who appear content to loiter around and hurl insults at the combatants and each other. Sebastian loathes all of them, but he has to be here. Keeping his eye on them when they’re not consciously on public display is a valuable source of data for his evaluations. Sebastian has plans. He has goals, and targets. But he has precious few allies, here in Genosha’s heart, and it vexes him. Just a little. Lord Sebastian Shaw does not want to be King (again) in name. He is old, older than some countries, even, and he wants to be at a level of rank where he can still get things done, not one that constricts him even as it elevates him. At least, not for a generation or so. As King’s Champion, in name or otherwise, he’d had plenty of authority and no real checks. Sebastian wasn’t interested in another wife, or in children, either. They required so much work, returned little in the way of rewards, and then they died. Anyone can be monarch, and reign. Lord Sebastian Shaw prefers to _rule._

Lord Sebastian Shaw is, in fact, not a happy man. He has always had a large capacity for enduring irritation- it comes with the territory, when one is effectively immortal, but this current situation with Charles so-called Xavier, the Queen-to-be’s Champion- is pretty much taking him past his limits. He snarls, futilely, to himself as he watches the practice bouts continue. Charles is right in the middle, waving his sword gamely, like the over enthusiastic little ex slave that he is. _Puppy!_ Sebastian had not wanted the brat to appoint a puppy to protect her- puppies _grew_ , all too often. He’d wanted the girl to name a _puppet_ Champion, well before she had to. Had Raven appointed one of his stable of candidates, all would have gone well. If she’d named one of the Genoshan nobles he had not already dominated, Sebastian and his Winter Lady would have had two good years to get, and keep, the Queen’s Champion under his thumb before she came of age. Darkholme himself is still of sturdy health, but he trusted both Sebastian and Emma, the poor fool. The King could die at any time that Lord Shaw decreed. Of course, there was always chance to consider, but Sebastian had been reasonably confident that whatever needed to be controlled- like the facts surrounding Lensherrs’ ancestry, for example- had _been_ controlled.

Slaves were good at following orders, if they wanted to survive. Charles had appeared to be just a weak kneed palid little trinket Lensherr had brought back from Westchester. Oh, he’d not been ugly, and Sebastian had had to admit the man's blue eyes had a certain beauty, and it looked like his mouth might be worth the training. He could understand why Lensherr had exerted himself to collect him. Charles could have been a useful eye on that group of problem children, too, if he'd been at all co operative.. He’d made the assumption that a slave, even a slave hero, wouldn’t be too hard to manipulate, either and so he’d not had the man tidied out of the way. This had been an error, one that Emma pointed out to him far too gleefully. She’d not been able to pick his brains in the meeting before Charles’… elevation. Something about the anxiety he’d been suffering from clouding her, of all things. Ridiculous. Shaw had gone in there, drunk the man’s wine, put up with his fatuous attempts at court behaviour and naïve, ignorant conversation, and Emma hadn’t been able to pry one decent, useful fact out of the man’s brain. Not _one_. Nothing on his family- well, other than it had been his relatives who’d sold him. And Charles’ native sharpness or Lensherr’s crude bluntness had led them not to conceal his enslaved past, so likely there were no blackmail possibilities there, either. Not that he himself liked using blackmail. It was too subtle, and in any case it presented the victim with the illusion of choice. 

Choice-making was not something Sebastian liked to bother with, in other people. Sebastian felt himself shiver, and stamped his feet, enjoying the flush of warmth from the energy that rolled through him. Something else he kept quiet. Across the field, Emma waved at him, graciously, and he ignored her. Lensherr was in the field, and the man’s Gift was, unlike the man, a beautiful thing to watch. A storm of blades danced around him as he fought with, and against the other Swords, laughing grimly. Not a single sharp edge came near Charles, as the ex slave practiced blade movements with McTaggert. Sebastian tilted his head in query at Lady Emma, but now she was ignoring him. Honestly. He suspected Emma wasn’t really trying to get into Xavier’s head; she’d been far too amused as she spoke of her failure. And watching the slack jawed worm trying to conceal his terror and submissiveness as he fumbled his way through a role he could not fulfil, directly under the gaze of the Court, had looked like it would prove amusing; and so he hadn’t disrupted the ceremony.

But even as the man’s thoughts proved elusive to Emma, he seemed to have located some courage, some little elegance of bearing. Sebastian had thought that two decades of slavery would have beaten it out of anyone, but Charles still had a brain and a spine. He had found no way- affable good humour, affable threats, subtle or not so subtle manipulations- to get Charles to behave as he, Lord Sebastian Shaw, wished him to. Not without open, direct orders, or force, which would rather have shown his hand, in terms of his plans and goals.  
“Penny for ‘em, bub.” A harsh voice spoke from behind Sebastian, and he whirled, to see… Logan, his fellow immortal. Fellow? Opposite, really. Where he was refined, Logan was coarse, where he was elegant, Logan was clumsy, and where he was eloquent, Logan was blunt, dull and forthright.  
“What?” He addressed the Palace Guard, curtly. He still had no idea why Logan played the role of a guard and servant  
“Y’seem to be thinking pretty deeply, there.” Logan said, insolent amusement in every bone of his body. “Wondered if you had any advice for any of ‘em.”

“I have always found blades to be the last weapon I resort to.” Sebastian said, stepping away. He was getting truly chilled now. The greyish sky overhead seemed to be promising rain. “ I doubt I could help them any.”  
“I know.” Logan said, old eyes dark with the knowledge. “Me now, I’ve always found them... close to hand. So to speak.” From a distance, the curve in his mouth looked like a smile. .Sebastian rolled his eyes.  
“I am not at all surprised, Logan.” He said, almost over his shoulder, as he walked away.  
“Not _yet._ ” Logan muttered between his teeth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles winds down after training and reflects on where the last six months have taken him.

Charles groaned as he limped up the stairs. The morning’s sword practice had left him with aching muscles and a complaining knee. Erik had been pleased with his rate of improvement, though. Charles scrubbed a hand though his wet hair and shivered. He was muddy and sweaty, and he wished he felt comfortable enough around the other Swords to join them in the public bathhouse. The soothing qualities of a nice soak in hot water were hard to beat. But in the bathhouse with the other Swords, there would be eyes on Charles, on his nude body and his scars from his lifetime as a slave. Even if no one ever commented or asked questions, he could not bear that, if it could be avoided. In the six months that he’d been Raven’s Champion Elect, Charles had learnt there were things he could do his own way, and how he washed was one of them. And if that means making do with a basin of hot water and a sponge every morning, in the blissful privacy of his own rooms, all doors barred? He can do that. 

Alex, his servant, doesn’t seem to mind bringing the water, although he has made comments about Charles’ insistence on dressing himself completely without aid. Charles doesn’t mind. Alex is young and gawky, with a street-bred wariness that Charles recognised as something that is both infinitely familiar and completely strange. Charles liked him. Alex mostly obeyed Charles’s requests and suggestions as if they were orders, and he did so with a cheerful insouciance that reassured Charles that Alex could disobey him if he wanted to. That Alex would disobey him, or anyone, if the order was something that Alex found painful, or frightening, or just unwelcome. This. Although Charles had never and probably would never say so, was the reason Charles had hired him, rather than any other more appropriate valet. Charles had a secret dread of turning around and finding he’d become a Master like the ones he used to endure; a user and abuser of those too weak or trapped to refuse. It’s unlikely- Genosha is not Westchester- but it’s one of the things that disturbed Charles’ sleep at night. 

“How’d it go?” Alex asked, as Charles closed the door behind him and leant on it, wearily. Charles gave him a weak smile.  
“Better.” He said, slowly. Alex gave a whoop of encouragement.  
“See, I _told_ you, man, you only had to keep it up- you’ll be a fighter in no time!” he said, as he took Charles’ weapons and leather practice armour from him. He placed the sword in the rack, handed Charles back the dagger and hung the heavy leather jack back on its stand for later cleaning. “Serious amount of mud though. You must be freezing. Go on through, it’s all set up.” Charles smiled again, more widely, and moved through the Champions’ suite, out of the receiving room, through the larger bedroom to the small one that he preferred. Of course, originally, the smaller bed and room had been intended for the servant, not the Champion, but Charles found the main room overly ornate and un restful. The bed was too large and reminded him of bad times in the past. The servant’s room could be barred more easily, and the door hidden under a tapestry. Charles liked the idea of being tucked safely out of sight whilst he slept. Alex had taken to the bigger bed gleefully, once he understood why Charles wanted the other one.

“Kind of cool, being the first line of defence, and all.” He’d said, brightly. Charles had raised an eyebrow. “Also the bed looks really comfortable- large enough for three.” Charles had blushed and changed the subject. The Champion was supposed to be celibate, apparently. Not something Charles found to be a hardship. Now, Charles walked into his bedroom, and stopped short. Instead of the jug of hot water he had expected, there was a whole bath. A hip bath stood before the fire, which was burning merrily, and the water in it was still steaming.  
“Alex?” Charles said, questioningly. Alex moved to lean on the open door into the bedroom.  
“S’ a bath, prof.” he said, awkwardly. “You know, for washing?” He grinned, anxiously.  
“I didn’t ask-“ Charles said, stunned. He’d never put Alex out by asking for something that took as much effort as filling a bath, when the public bathhouse was there, if he really needed it. Not liking to bathe with the Swords didn’t mean he couldn’t, if it was required.

“I know. You don’t ever ask; it’s almost like you forget you’re my boss, or something.” Alex grinned crookedly.  
“I didn’t want to put you to the bother-“ Charles said. Alex put up a hand.  
“Save it; the water’ll get cold.” When Charles still looked troubled, Alex said “There’s this guy-” Charles raised an eyebrow. Alex flushed, slightly. “His name’s Dar. We were fooling around, trying to see how much he could carry. Turns out, a lot. And Mary, in the kitchens, she can make anything boil, if she touches it, so… ” He waved a hand, vaguely.  
“I see.” Charles said, touched by Alex’s thoughtfulness. “Well, I don’t want to miss out of the prospect of a long quiet soak, so-“  
“I got your stuff to clean, I’ll be through there.” Alex jerked a thumb over his shoulder, and withdrew, quietly. 

Charles waited until Alex was out of the other bedroom, and drew the tapestry in front of his door, before closing it and barring it from the inside. He didn’t bother with the curtains- the windows were too small to allow entry to anything other than birds, and the suite was three floors up, too high up for curious eyes to peek through. He pulled off his clothes quickly, and slid into the bath with a sigh of pleasure. The water temperature was just right- hot enough to sting in his scrapes and thaw out his fingers and toes immediately. Charles sank into the hot water and enjoyed it. Alex was within earshot if he needed anything. He was in a bath, yet as safe and private as he could be. _Luxury_.

Charles stared at his toes, thoughtfully. Even six months ago, when he’d been presented to the Court as Champion-Elect, he would not have predicted his life turning out this way. Although much was made of the Champion’s supposed martial prowess, far more of his current role seemed to be a combination of secretary, ledger-clerk, and diplomat. Raven had duties as Princess and Heir that Charles had to help her fulfil. He maintained her public correspondence, and prodded her to write replies in her own hand. He paid the wages of her servants and administered her income and revenues. And he accepted, refused, or was noncommittal on her behalf to every invitation she received. And so, so much more. 

Charles reached for the soap, and began to scrub, blissfully. He had weapons training, for a start. This meant that every morning, rain or shine, Charles was out there with the Swords and the Palace Guard. He was swinging a blade, dodging, diving and leaping. Usually, Logan had explained, the Champion gave the training, rather than received it, but they were happy enough making an exception for him. How lovely. It had certainly help smooth down any irritation or resentment amongst the people most committed to protecting the King and his heir, though. And there were his sessions with Healer Foley. Bringing back his telepathy was going to take time, the Healer had said. So far, all Charles had had to do was drink vile potions and think strange things; both of which resulted in headaches, but not much more. Stoll, Foley remained hopeful, and although privately, Charles had little hope of being able do much with it; a little telepathy went a long way. It would be worth it; even if all he could do turned out to be occasionally tell if a person was lying.

The bathwater was getting cold, so Charles hauled himself out, and dried off, quickly. Even the bright fire Alex must have built while he was playing in the mud could not keep the huge old stones of his room from chilling the air in winter. Alex had also laid out clean clothes: informally comfortable trousers, a fine linen shirt and one of his favourite knitted woollen tunics. This one had a wonderfully floppy neck and was a deep blue. Erik had accused him of deliberately selecting it because it matched his eyes, but Charles hadn’t really much idea of how he looked. Mirrors were not for slaves, and he’d never been vain.Charles fastened his belt and adjusted the hang on the dagger at his hip. He unbarred the door and padded through barefoot, pulling aside the tapestry as he went. Alex looked up from polishing Charles’ sword and smiled.   
“Hey boss. Lunch is here.” He said, waving at the tray on the table. 

Charles smiled, and tucked in. He was putting on weight now, something else that pleased the Healer.  
“Thank you, Alex.” He remembered to say after he had assembled his first sandwich.  
“No prob. S’my job.”  
“And you do it well” Charles said through a mouth full of bread and cold meats. He swallowed, and then went on “I forgot to ask for lunch though. Well caught.”  
“I know.” Alex said, cheerfully. “Fortunately, you never ask for so much stuff that I forget we both like eating.” He grinned again.  
“Don’t forget to eat your own lunch.” Charles said, mildly. Alex laid aside the sword and reached for the food. “And maybe you should wash your hands, first?” Charles sais, gently chiding. Alex looked at his hands, caked black under the nails with armour polish and nodded, ruefully. He hauled himself out of his chair and went through to the bedroom. Charles heard the splash of water being poured into the basin and took another bite, happily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's more where that came from! But not until I do some more for some of the other stories I've got on here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles gets his shoes on, Erik gets his awkward on, Sean and Alex get their plotting on.

Someone rapped on the door, two fast taps followed by three slower ones. Charles recognised the pattern. He abandoned the remnants of his sandwich and went to open his door. The scrubbing noises from next door intensified. Charles shook his head; the armour polish should have been worn away by now.   
“Hello, Erik.” He said, cheerfully to the lean tall shape standing in the doorway.  
“What, no greeting for me?” Sean said, almost pushing the Senior Sword out of the way in order to greet Charles. Charles and Erik exchanged quiet nods of greeting, and Sean threw his arms around Charles and hugged him. Charles laughed a little breathlessly.  
“Hello, Sean.” He said, cheerfully as he disentangled himself.  
“Are you seriously thinking of going to the Council meeting in that?” Erik said, mildly.

“What’s wrong with my clothing?” Chares said, innocently. His clothes were warm, comfortable, and expensive without being extravagant. He’d ordered them deliberately. The fact that they encouraged the Council members to underestimate him was almost coincidence. “The Council meeting is informal.” Charles said, indignantly. “I’m perfectly-” He was interrupted.   
“I meant, barefoot, Charles. Where are your socks?” Erik sighed. Charles deflated.   
“Oh. Um.” He looked around, vaguely. “Alex, where do we keep my socks?”  
“Corner chest of drawers.” Alex called from the next room. Sean moved to the cupboard in question, and yanked on a drawer.  
“Wow.” He said as he gazed into the perfectly ordered rows of socks. Charles flushed. Sean grinned, picked a pair at random, and threw them to Erik, who advanced on Charles with determination. 

“Sit.” Erik said, calmly.  
“I’m also capable of dressing myself.” Charles said.  
“Yeah, you hardly need me at all.” Alex said, wandering back into the room as he wiped his now clean hands on towelling.   
“I know you are.” Erik said. “Sit. And finish your sandwich.” Alex nodded at Sean and Erik.   
“Sir.” He said, respectfully to Erik, who eyed him, warningly. Alex looked at little unnerved. Charles sat. As he chewed on his sandwich, Erik lifted first one and then the other of his feet and tugged the socks onto them. Charles let him, mildly bemused. He wasn’t quite sure what was going on, or how it made him feel. Alex and Sean grinned at each other.  
“Boots?” Erik barked. Wordlessly, Alex indicated the bootrack. Erik marched himself over to it, selected a pair that he approved of and brought them back to Charles.

“Foot.” Erik said, firmly.  
“Really, Erik, I’m sure I’m able to-“ Charles began again, helplessly.  
 _“Foot.”_ Erik insisted. Charles sighed, and gave in to the inevitable. He raised his foot, and watched as Erik slid down to one knee, checked the lie of the sock and slid a boot onto his left foot. He stared at the top of Erik’s bent head as he repeated the action with Charles’s right foot. He was fairly sure he was never going to understand Erik, even if he did get his telepathy back in good working order.  
“There.” Erik said. “ _Now_ you’re ready. Come on.” Charles stood.  
“The meeting is not until third hour.” He said, mildly. “We’ve plenty of time.”

“Yes, but you need more information about the family history in this case.” Erik said as he twitched the tunic over Charles’ shoulders, and dusted off the layer of sandwich crumbs he seemed to have gathered. Charles shifted, uncomfortably under his hands.  
“What?” Erik said. “You need to learn as much as you can. You said so yourself.” Charles rolled his shoulders as Erik stopped touching him and stepped away.   
“Oh, very well.” He sighs. “Alex, where did I-?”  
Alex put the scholar’s bag, with the notebooks, the pencils, the penknife and the biscuits Charles favoured into his hand, and smiled. “Thank you, Alex.” He said, as Erik wrapped a hand around his elbow and marched him off. Alex waved.

 

“They bedding each other yet?” Sean said, cheerily, as he inspected the tray. Alex slapped his hand away from his food.  
“That’s mine, get your own, sir.” He said, as he began building his own sandwich. Sean dragged up a chair and began to do the same.  
“Well?” he prodded. Alex glared at him as he bit into his sandwich.  
“He’s not bedding anyone. Don’t know about Erik.” He admitted reluctantly. Alex liked his boss. Liked him a lot. Despite the vagueness about his possessions, the fear of actually giving a goddamned order and the tendency to overwork, Champion Charles Xavier was the kindest, most thoughtful, and generous employer Alex had ever had. He kind of wanted to keep him.

“Oh, I know Erik wants to. Pretty sure it’s one of the reasons he was so sure we were all to be hands off, back when Charles was a slave.” Sean said, and poured out liquid from the jug into a spare glass. Alex frowned. He didn’t like to think about Charles’s time before. Charles had scars, lots of them, from before he came to Genosha. The visible ones were all over his back, and the invisible ones showed up in a subtle pattern of twitches and hesitations, that had the boss sleeping in servants’ quarters or bolting the door to have a bath, among others. They gave Alex nightmares, even in the big comfy bed that Charles would not sleep in, although they were nowhere near as bad as the bad dreams Charles sometimes got. Alex shook his head, and forced his thoughts onto another track. 

“Hey, this is water!” Sean said, surprised. “Where’s the wine?”  
“Yeah. We don’t usually drink much of that.” Alex said. “ Bossman, he still doesn’t like the booze.” Sean sagged, sadly. “Apparently, that’s your fault?” Alex’s tone was accusing.  
 _“That was Logan!”_ Sean yelped. Alex grinned, and turned his attention back to his sandwich. Another thing that made him fond of his boss: the food. Charles didn’t go in for elaborate or fiddly dished, and he insisted Alex eat with him, or at least food as good as his, every day.  
“So.” Sean said. “Bedding.” Alex rolled his eyes.  
“Can you think of anything else, just for a minute?” Sean pondered things, briefly.

“No.” he said, finally, and licked his fingers. “So… Erik’s doing this dance around Charles, but he’s not pushing anything, and it’s making him grumpy.” Sean said. Alex looked at him. “Grumpier.” Sean said, eventually.   
“I didn’t think he thinks about Charles like that.” Alex said.  
“Oh, yeah, he does.” Sean said confidently. “And I think he’d… they’d be good together.” He said, hastily, and turned pink.  
“No risk of kids, for example.” Alex said, bluntly. “So no oath breaking, as long as they don’t get married.”  
“Yeah.” Sean said.

“And it’s not like either of them have _other_ family to abandon.” Alex said, bitterly.  
“What?” Sean said. Alex waved the question away.  
“So. Erik and Charles.” Sean said. “We ought to help ‘em see each other.”  
“They see each other every day.” Alex pointed out. “And, why?” he added.  
“No, I mean, really _see_ each other.” Sean said. “Because it’ll make him… them happier?”  
“Good point. How?” Sean leaned forwards, eagerly.  
“Oh, I’ve got lots of ideas. What’s your man’s schedule look like this month?”  
“I can alter it a bit, if necessary. What ideas?” Alex said, leaning forwards in turn.  
“Well…” Sean said, eagerly. “Has he been out of the Palace at all, you know, not formally.”  
“No…” Said Alex. “What were you thinking of?”  
“There’s this place run by Madame Grey...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, _this_ is going to end badly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and Sean think taking Charles to a brothel is a Good Idea. Anne Marie makes a new friend.
> 
> Due to being enslaved between the ages of 13 and 28, Charles has a distorted understanding of most human relationships. And himself. 
> 
> This is not going to go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I've said before, Charles has some issues. This means there may be inadvertently triggering things related to sexual abuse and exploitation thought about or hinted at in this chapter. Please read with care; and let me know if you feel there’s something I could have done differently or better or more respectfully. Thank you.

Afterwards, Charles was never quite able to put his finger on what had alerted him to the precise nature of the place Sean and Alex had dragged him to. He wasn’t really sure why he had agreed to come out with them in the first place; he was so rushed and busy now, between learning his duties and doing his duties that even the lessons Lady Frost had offered to develop his telepathy had to be squeezed in quite randomly. Charles would have preferred a quiet book by his fire, or game of chess with Erik, as a method of relaxation. But Sean had suggested this, and Alex had chimed in and, somehow, now here they all were.

Charles looked around the stylishly decorated salon. The ladies and gentlemen who entertained at Madame Grey’s were all impeccably dressed and behaved; the food was fresh and fine, the wine was good, and the music and gaming were likewise tasteful and of high quality. As were the clientele, mostly. Charles should have been enjoying himself. As it was, Charles felt dizzy, sick, and terrified. He had frozen, abruptly, when he realised that Sean and Alex had, doubtless quite innocently, taken him to a _brothel._

His hands were shaking again, Charles noticed. He took another gulp of his wine, hastily. It didn’t help much. To be consigned to a brothel, a mine or the galley ships had been the three fates he had most feared before Erik and Genosha happened to save him. It seemed Charles thought, he still had some of that primal fear lurking within, like an old disease. Brothels- certain types of relationship generally, if he was truly honest- Charles just felt _repelled_ by them, and by the people who would use them. Even an establishment as fine and discreet as this one, where money probably never openly changed hands, made Charles feel ill as his unwanted memories boiled upwards.

Of course, he was no longer scared he would be the victim in a pairing, as he had been as a slave; but Charles had no intention of being the master either, let alone a, a renter of some faked closeness in a brothel. Charles knew, who better, the bitterness that could hide under smiling lies when one person held power over another. He sighed a little. Being vowed to celibacy had made Charles hope that this kind of unpleasantness was no longer his concern. Thanks to Sean and Alex- he glanced over to his precious pair, who were currently whispering together over a dice game with a dark skinned stranger- he was now in a potentially very embarrassing situation indeed. 

Furthermore, Sean was a Sword, if one still in training, and his vows, like Charles own, would cause him to forswear wife and children in service of the Queen-to-be. Celibacy and brothels seldom tended to mix, in Charles’ experience. Fortunately no one seemed to have recognised him as Champion to be; so if he quietly slipped out when no one was watching, all should be well. Charles doubted anyone would believe him if he was found out and he told the truth, that he hadn’t known where he was going, and that once there, he had made his excuses and left without scandal. 

“May I offer you more wine, sir?” a voice trilled in his ear. Charles turned, horrified, to see a little girl smiling at him, innocently. She was a mere child! A _child_ , serving in a place like _this_. An apparently happy little girl, in a rich dress and long, white, gloves, almost like a grown woman’s. She gave him a gap toothed smile over her wine ewer.   
“I- er-“ Charles said, stumbling. The smile faded from the little girl’s face. She couldn’t be more than ten. Charles felt disgusted, and distantly, angry. Charles blinked. He stood up. He had to get out of here. He took a couple of paces towards the door.  
“No.” he said finally, aloud. No, to the wine, to the happy group here, _no_ to all of this.

“Sir?” she said, worriedly. “Are you feeling well?” Charles looked down at her.  
“You shouldn’t be here.” He said, quietly, almost to himself. Charles could not have said how much of that sentence he meant for her and how much for himself. He put down his wineglass on a nearby table, and walked out of the merry gathering without thinking much about where he was going or why. All Charles really knew was that he needed to be out of there. When Charles looked up, he realised he had made a wrong turning, somewhere. The upstairs chamber that Alex and Sean had led him to clearly had other exits, and he’d taken one without thinking. He had no idea where he was in the house. Something about the plain walls, the uncarpeted, if clean, floor, made him think he’d found his way to the servant’s quarters.

Scampering steps behind him made Charles turn his head; the girl was following him. Good. He could make sure she was safe, at least. Somehow. He wanted to steal her away, keep her safe from the foul place she was caught in, as no one had done for him  
“Are you feeling well, sir?” the child said again. Charles shrugged.  
“Not really.” He said, and sat, heavily, on the stairs. “What’s your name?” The little girl clearly seemed to think this was an invitation to a long conversation. She beamed and, setting her wine ewer aside, sat on the step next to him. Carefully, Charles edged away a little, so they weren’t touching. 

The little girl’s smile dimmed. Charles decided not to explain. He wasn’t sure he could, explain, even to himself, this troubling knot of fear and self loathing and rage that was choking him, pulling his heart into his throat and twisting his stomach viciously.  
“I’m Anne Marie.” She said, hopefully, pulling at the white lock in her dark hair.  
“My name is Charles.” Charles said, without thinking. “Should I bow at this point, or is that done after we shake hands?” He added, thoughtfully. Sometimes he got these minor points of protocol quite wrong, even after half a year in Genosha.

“You can’t bow, you’re sitting down.” Anne Marie said, helpfully. “And I always stumble when I curtsy. I don’t like it.” She made a face.  
“Very true, M’am Marie. I can’t.” Charles put his hand out. “And I wouldn’t want to ask you to do something you don’t like.” She giggled. Charles gave her a wan smile. “Best we stick to a handshake then?” Her face lit up, and she put her gloved hand in his. They shook, solemnly. There was a small, almost peaceful, pause.

“What’s wrong with you, then?” Anne Marie said, presently. Charles looked at her, blankly. “You said no when I asked if you were well.” She reminded him.  
“Oh. Rather a lot, by now, I should think.” Charles put his head in his hands. “Rather a lot.” Anne Marie patted the fine embroidered shoulder of his coat, soothingly.  
“Have you a headache, sir? My mother makes tisanes-“  
“No.” Charles said to his hands. “Not a headache.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madame Grey is not having the best of evenings. Neither is Charles Xavier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, touching on past abuse issues, prostitution and consent issues here.

Madame Grey was not having the best of evenings. Firstly, there are the bills to sort through and pay off, which she never found fun, even now, with the house riding high in the world, financially speaking. Secondly, a consignment of wine arrived corked, undrinkable, and getting the vintner to accept that this was not due to shipping or storage had taken quite some time. Thirdly, a most unsuitable man had attempted to be taken on as a client, and had to be politely -if firmly- rebuffed. However much money and power Lord Sebastian Shaw had, it would not get him into the bedrooms of House Grey.

Especially when the girls he had shown most interest in had said he showed an inability to hear or receive the word _“No”_ well. Jean had decided, when she first opened her doors, that anyone, anyone at all, who showed one of the nine signs of potential trouble, would not get a chance to hurt her employees, or her family. Lord Shaw was already displaying some of them, and he was not going to get the opportunity to show more. But he was King’s Champion, and rich, and Gifted, and so refusing him had taken most of her diplomacy and composure. 

And now Anne Marie, her adopted daughter, was missing from the nursery. At ten years, she was rather too old to be in the nursery still, except that on a night such as this, with the public salon open to chance-come visitors for light entertainment and introductions, it was the safest place in the house. Not that the girl was supposed to mingle with the clients, or potential patrons, anyway. But she was still innocent, stubborn, and disturbingly fascinated by it all, despite the nature of her Gift meaning that she would never be able to be a courtesan. Perhaps she’d do well as a gaming mistress- her mathematics needed work, but she was a sharp little thing, all told.

Anne Marie was safe as she could be; growing up in House Grey, but the public salon nights did add a little uncertainty. Anyone, so long as they were reasonably sober, reasonably well dressed, and reasonably polite, was permitted within by the door guard. Jean used these nights to vet potential clients, to earn money directly and to carve a larger name for House Grey. The public nights were also showcases for the more publically acceptable artists under her guidance or patronage. Musicians, painters, writers- all enriched the salon tonight.

Anne Marie is stubborn, as stubborn as her birth mother and Jean herself. Despite having been repeated ordered, warned and begged to avoid the public front of the house, Jean has found her there all too often. If she’s not there, she’s likely plotting mischief with Remy or one of the street’s children from around here. Such mischief has got her into much trouble before, between her Gift and her general wildness. Grimly, Jean vows to herself. If Anne-Marie has sneaked out to play in the street again, Jean will tan her hide. 

Jean was hurrying along, sweeping the corridors with her mind, letting the guardians of the House know that Anne Marie was missing and called for, when she came upon her daughter. Sitting on the stairs with a dangerously well dressed stranger. Jean felt for the emotions from him, and grew alarmed. He was troubled. A dizzying mix of fear and self repulsion rose from his slumped form like steam. That was not a good combination, especially not in a house that offered the entertainments House Grey did.

“I wouldn’t to ask you to do something you don’t like.” The stranger said, coaxingly as Jean walked towards them. Anne Marie giggled, and Jean bit down on an instinctive swell of protective wrath. The stranger put his head in his hands, obviously feeling guilty, and Jean saw red. She swept forwards, dress rustling, and slapped at the stranger with her mind. He let out a choked noise and stumbled to his feet.  
“What-I don’t-“ he stammered.   
“What are you doing with my daughter?” Jean snapped aloud, probing with her mind for truth at the same time. His reaction startled her.

 _-What are you doing, dressing her up and letting her work in a brothel!-_ Was his instant, indignant telepathic response to her query, even as his mouth stammered and he slipped down the stairs a step or two, swaying. His eyes were wide and dark with distress. Anne Marie let out a pleading noise.  
“Please, he’s nice, I was just talking-“ she began to babble. Jean growled, and seized the slippery man by the ear, intending to drag him towards the door, telepathy or no telepathy. The skin to skin contact proved to be a mistake.

This Charles was not at all happy; he was frightened by his past. A storm of images and memories washed over her. Something about House Grey was forcing Charles to remember bad things. He was remembering times in chains, where he had been foced. Forced to endure filth, fear, pain, helplessness, shame. Pain of mind and body. Swiftly, Jean tried to block him, but was unable. Charles’ feelings and his mind were both too strong. Jean gasped and staggered under the telepathic feedback. Charles caught her before she could fall, and for a precarious moment they both swayed dangerously, before Charles stepped down a few treads on the stairs.

Jean bit her lip. The man was in a severe state of emotional turmoil, true, but despite appearances, he had meant no harm to her daughter. And she had responded with a mental contact that bordered on violence. Anne Marie was staring at her, reproachfully  
“I’m sorry.” Jean said, to both of them. “I shouldn’t have done that.” She said, eventually. He said nothing, staring blankly in front of him. His knees were trembling, she noted. “I jumped to conclusions.”  
“What?” he said, hoarsely. He didn’t turn his head to look at either of them.

“I knew Anne Marie sneaked into the public salon, and I was... worried for her. She knows very well she’s not allowed in there.” Anne Marie winced. Charles nodded. Looking more closely at him, Jean thought he seemed to be almost in shock. Jean turned to her daughter, hoping the delay would give the man some time to regain his composure  
“Anne Marie Grey, you know I have repeatedly told you, you are not to appear front of house, you are not to pester guests, and you are not to enter the public salon! What possessed you, girl?”  
“I’m sorry, sir. Mother.” Anne Marie said, subdued. “I wanted to help.”

Jean bit back an angry response.  
“Help now by going to the kitchens. Tell Betsy we need tisane.”  
“Which one?” Anne Marie said, hopefully. Jean gave her a look, to let her know the matter was merely shelved, for the moment.  
“Green box. My private withdrawing room” Jean said, shortly. Anne Marie scampered off. She looked at the troubled man standing below her, and sighed.   
“Come along.” She said briskly, stepping down the stairs towards him. He flinched backwards, and for a second Jean was sure he was going to run. 

The moment passed, as she took his sleeve- lightly- and tugged. Wordlessly, Charles turned and followed her. As they walked, Jean began her mental exercises for calmness and clarity. The man was a very clumsy telepath, and if she was going to work with someone so troubled, who was throwing off his feelings like sparks from a fire, she needed them. And Charles needed to talk, even if he was not aware of it. Client or not, he needed help. Help Jean knew how to give.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more conversation, and some tea. Jean corrects a long held misunderstanding on Charles' part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, Charles is full of the past abuse trauma, here. Please to be aware.

Jean settled Charles Xavier, the Champion to be, in the most comfortable armchair in her small, private sitting room. The fire was bright, casting a warm, welcoming glow on the book case and the pictures she had selected. Jean unbarred the shutters to let the night sky in, and set herself to lighting candles.  
“Anne Marie will doubtless come back herself with the tisane.” She said, lightly. “Little imp. She’s fascinated by the whole business of entertaining guests.”

“Is that what we are?” Charles said, dryly. “Welcome guests?”  
“You are.” Jean said, steadily.  
“ _Paying_ guests.” Charles said, sharply. “Should you allow her anywhere near here?” He was shivering slightly. Jean crossed to the fire and laid on more wood.  
“I’m her _mother_. Should I abandon her?” She said, sharply. Charles twitched, and rubbed his face with one hand.  
“No, I’m sorry, I just… I wasn’t expecting this kind of, of entertainment to be available, when I came out this evening.”  
“What, tea?” Jean said, amused.

“No.” Charles looked irritated. “You know what I mean.” She smiled.  
“I suppose I do. Why was it such a surprise, though? Didn’t your guides tell you?” Charles shook his head. Jean frowned. “Bad of them.”  
“They can’t have known. Sean is in training to be a Sword, so like me, he’s not allowed-“  
“What?” Said Jean, honestly startled. “Ah, thank you pet.” She said as Anne Marie came into the room, carefully carrying a heavy tray.  
“But, our oaths…” Charles broke off in some confusion. Gratefully, he accepted the cup that Anne Marie gave him, and held it as she carefully poured it full of an herbal tea.

“What _about_ your oaths?” Jean said, bewildered.  
“I intend to keep mine.” Charles said, and inhaled the steam form the tea, slowly.  
“Partaking in the entertainments available in this house would not mean you’d break them!” Jean said. “I know that much!” Charles gave her a dubious glance. “Truly.”  
Charles gaped at Jean. Surely, Madame Grey couldn’t mean-  
“You’re a telepath.” Jean said to him, calmly. “How could you not know this?”  
“Just barely a telepath. I had the shaking fever as a child.” Charles mumbled. He took another sip of tea. 

Anne Marie giggled. “Hush, you.” He muttered at her. “No laughing at the poor foreign Champion.” Jean took a deep breath, and, retraining her own giggle, began explain the meaning behind the terms of the Champion’s vows. Apparently, the oath he had taken had not been one of celibacy. Nor even was it a vow of chastity. Charles had simply sworn not to marry or reproduce. Anything that didn’t lead to either pregnancy or marriage was therefore an acceptable behaviour.

Charles stared at the fire in Madame Grey’s private sitting room, and blinked, again. Across the fireplace, Jean was trying not to laugh. Charles tried to hide his blush in his teacup.  
“Oh dear.” She said. “I’m sorry, it’s just- Your face!” Charles smiled, ruefully. He was feeling much better than he had been earlier in the evening. Jean, the head of the House had located him, drawn by his unintended broadcasting of his emotional state, probably. Their first meeting had not gone well, because of that, but the lady seemed inclined to forgive him.

At least, tea in a private sitting room and a comfortable chat probably meant that she had forgiven him. Anne Marie had pled his cause, too. The little girl was now blinking and yawning, ready for sleep, even as she fought it.  
“You seemed upset by more than potential scandal, when we met.” Jean said. Charles felt his shoulders tighten and tried to unhunch himself. He took another sip of tea.  
“You said you were a mind reader.” He said, finally. “What did you read?” Jean glanced at Anne Marie, who had turned back to her book.  
“Pain. Sorrow. Bad memories.” Jean said, quietly and sympathetically. Charles went white.

 _“Yes.”_ He choked out, folding his hands under his armpits. The fabric of his coat creaked under the strain. His forehead was wet.  
“Here, you can take your coat off, if you like.” Jean said, again quietly. “The fire’s too hot.” She moved towards him, and Charles flinched.   
“Please-“ he said, low and breathless with the fear and old pain. Jean froze, immediately, eyes wide. _-What’s wrong?-_ She demanded silently.  
 _\- I- I can’t-._ He answered the same way, mindful of the sleepy Anne Marie. _-So much to do, to be and, and- I don’t want to-_

Her mind brushed his, gently. It was the only kind of touch he could have borne, just then.  
 _-Shh, shh. You don’t have to do anything. Not here-_. Jean said, instantly soothing, mind to mind. Aloud she added  
“What _happened_ to you, Charles?” _-Who hurt you?-_ Jean was afraid she could tell just how he had been hurt, at least in part. The head of a pleasure house learned to recognise that particular mental scar very quickly.  
“Which particular chapter do you want to hear?” Charles said, dully.  
“All of them.” Jean said, firmly. “Any of them.” _-Anything you feel you can tell me-_. Aloud she added. “Anne Marie is asleep. And I swear, anything I hear, I will not repeat or cause to be known, anywhere.”

She was a telepath. So, in his own poor way, was Charles. He believed her.  
“I- I was a slave. In Westchester” Charles said, finally. “Erik bought me. They took me here.”  
“I know that, I think every one of the commonfolk in Genosha has heard the story. It sounds quite romantic-“ Charles broke in, breathing harshly.  
“If you’re an _idiot_ -“  
“If you don’t know the _reality_ of slavery, which most of them don’t.” Jean allowed. “I know a little” Charles titled his head, curious. He wondered how she came by that learning.

“How old were you when you became enslaved?” Jean was reasonably certain he hadn’t been born a slave, but-  
“I was two months short of my fourteenth birthday when my stepfather sent me to the slave market” Charles said, simply. Jean stifled a gasp, and turned to look at her daughter.  
“And … your family?” Jean said cautiously.  
“My stepbrother took me to the market. My mother was drunk, most of the time. Kurt took good care to keep her that way.” Charles said, dully. 

“There was a trader, at the market. I think you can guess what happened after that.” Again, Charles felt the wordless soothing touch of her mind. He closed his eyes and sighed.  
“I’m sorry.” Jean said, simply. Charles looked at her, and nodded.   
“I was always afraid of ending in a brothel.” Charles said. He gave a short laugh. _-I think that’s irony.-_ He added, silently. _-You know, considering where I am now-._  
“You mean Westchester’s pleasure houses are _full_ of people who didn’t, who can’t consent?” Jean said, horrified further. Charles nodded.

“No wonder you wanted to protect her.” She laid a protective hand over Anne Marie, careful not to touch skin to skin. ”Thank you for that.” Charles shrugged, awkwardly. He drank some tea. His mouth was dry and his stomach was roiling, as it always did if he though too long about the early years of his slavery. The tea was light and clean in his mouth, and soothing when he swallowed it.  
“This is good.” He said, finally.  
“I blend it myself.” Jean said, softly. “I don’t share my recipes though.” They shared a faint smile. The fire crackled.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira and Angel and Erik react to the news of Alex and Sean's plan, and what happened when they tried to carry it out.
> 
> Hint: None of them are terribly happy.

“You’re in a good mood today, Charles.” Moira said, intrigued. Charles smiled sweetly at her, but didn’t explain. Angel grinned.  
“Well, we’ve nearly finished the rent rolls. Charles, are you sure Raven’s going to be all right with cutting the rates this year?” Charles nodded.  
“She has income from other places, and the harvest has been bad. We don’t want to breed resentment of the Lady, not when a little relaxationon the rates now means they’ll hopefully have more money to spend next year.” He said, seriously. “The trade guilds pay taxes too.”  
“Where’s your shadows?” Moira said, and took a mouthful of her wine. “Sean sometimes escapes, but Alex is usually here before now, to make sure you eat.” Charles pinked up.

“I wonder if they’re still looking for me?” He said, thoughtfully. Angel frowned.  
“Boss, why are you hiding from your own servant?” Charles grinned.   
“I’m not, but they and I went out into the town last night, and I rather think they didn’t intend to lose track of me.” Moira grimaced  
“Sean is not supposed to lose track of you, that’s part of his training.”  
“Taking care of me is his training? I thought that was Alex’s job.” Charles raised an eyebrow. Moira flushed, and nodded. Charles grin turned a little twisted. “Maybe that’s why he though Madame Grey’s was a good place to go, then.” 

Angel spat out a mouthful of her wine over the papers spread out on Charles’ desk.  
“You went _where_? You know that’s a-“  
“Brothel, yes. At least, I know that now.” Charles said, mildly, his face blank and pleasant. Moira and Angel shared a look and winced.   
“House of Pleasure.” Moira said, neutrally. Charles looked at her, enigmatically, and nodded his acceptance of the Genoshan term.  
“I know, I know. It's not like Westchester. Not what I was afraid of. Everyone in a Genoshan… establishment can walk away any time they want.” He said, tiredly. 

“Madame Grey made sure I knew that, eventually.” Charles rubbed his face.  
“You met her?” Angel said, face interested. “How? What was she like?”  
“I got a little disturbed, when I realised the whole… house of pleasure aspect. Then I got lost, trying to leave, so we had some conversation… she’s a very clever woman.” Charles said, vaguely. Angel and Moira looked at each other again. Carefully, neither of them mentioned Erik.   
“And that’s how Alex and Sean lost sight of you?”  
“Pretty much.” Charles said. “I didn’t really want to have to deal with all the fallout of, of, the visit, and I ended up staying there quite late.”

After the pleasant tea by the fire with Jean, Charles had been surprised to consider how honestly he had been able to answer her. How much of a gift- a true Gift, indeed, her telepathy was, unlike his own, and unlike poor little Anne Marie’s gift. In his previous lessons with Emma Frost, Charles had never managed to speak mind to mind so clearly. Perhaps there was hope for his stunted mind, still. He’d wanted quiet and peace to think things over. He had also been determined, after his discomfort, that Alex and Sean could sort things like transport home, out for themselves.

Moira peered at him, sharply.  
“Charles Xavier, are you telling me you stayed _all night_ at Madame Grey’s?”  
“Not quite all night. Just most of it.” Charles said, innocently. Angels’ eyes went round.  
“How much did you spend?” House Grey was no cheap brothel; it’s ladies and gentlemen were among the finest in Genosha, and they charged accordingly, and the head of the House... Angel couldn't begin to work out _her_ rates.  
“Oh, very little. A glass of wine after a meal, no more.” Charles laughed, embarrassed at his own thoughts.  
“Did you know, until last night, I believed the Swords and the Champion’s oaths included celibacy?” His cheeks were pink again.  
“Ah… how did you think that was how it worked?” Moira said, carefully.

“Never mind that, how did you find out the vows don’t mean that?” Angel said, eagerly.  
“Madame Grey.” Charles said, simply. “Corrected a number of my misunderstandings.”  
“Hmm. Must have been a long… conversation.” Moira hummed, thoughtfully.  
“Tell us all! Spill!” Angel grinned. Charles went pinker.  
“Nothing like that! Good gods, no!” He wanted to add, _we just talked,_ or perhaps _her daughter was there the whole time_ , but a glance at the grins on the faces of his friends told him this wouldn’t help any.  
“She’s a mind reader.” He said. “She saw I was upset, and convinced me I didn’t need to be. That’s all.” 

Angel believed him. The trading trip, and its aftermath had left them all fully aware of Charles’s… discomfort in some areas. He had an unease about flirtation or more that had persisted after his elevation to Champion. Now she understood part of it had been more than that. Turned out, Charles hadn’t known he could, and how had he found out? In a house of pleasure. Not the best location for that kind of learning. Carefully, Moira didn’t look at either of them. Charles had gone tense again; shoulders squared as if that would hide his fear. Mentally she cursed both the idiot boys. She’d thought Charles had simply been too busy to go out and find a lover. She’d hoped he’d been waiting for Erik to extract his cranium from his rectum. Erik was not going to be happy with-

“Boss!” A new voice crowed from the doorway, ragged with relief. “You’re here!” Charles looked up to see an unusually pale Alex, followed by a silent Sean, in the doorway.  
“Where else would I be?” he said, mildly. “I’ve always held the midweek meeting here and at this time.” Alex winced.  
“Yeah, but we, you know, we…” he trailed off.  
“Lost sight of me yesterday evening?” Charles said, still mild. “Don’t worry. Madame Grey’s… friends saw me home.”  
“Ah…” Sean said. “I, we, met Dar there?” he did not seem able to meet Charles’ eyes, for some reason.

“Oh, yes, I saw you all, in the public salon.” Charles said. “Did you have a good game?”  
“Yeah…” Sean told his boots. Charles bit back a grin. At least the boys were regretting what they had done. He stood.  
“I have to get to my lessons now. Lady Frost will not appreciate it if I’m late.” He nodded at Angel and Moira, who also stood.  
“Oh, and gentlemen?” he said. Both boys tensed. “While I’m sure your failure to inform me as to the full range of… entertainments available at Madame Grey’s was an unfortunate oversight…” Charles trailed off, significantly. Both boys nodded frantically. “ _Don’t_ do it again.” He swept out of the room, head high.

There was a short silence in the chamber after Charles left. This was broken by Angel marching over to Alex and Sean, grasping their ears in either hand and banging their heads together, sharply. Both boys yelped, pitifully. Moira made no attempt to stop her.  
“You took _Charles_ to a _brothel?!_ ” she hissed. “What is wrong with you?”  
“Hey, ow, no, Angel, it was part of the plan!” Sean said, urgently. Alex motioned to him urgently to shut up.  
“Plan?” said Moira, suddenly.  
“Um.” Said Sean. “We- I –“ he said, abruptly. “I thought it would be nice if Charles could, y’know enjoy himself for a night.”  
“In a house of pleasure?” Angel said, incredulously. “Sean, you know how he is! And why! Alex, you should too, by now.” Alex flushed, miserably.  
“We didn’t think he’d, he’d get into trouble!” he said, desperately. Moira glared at Sean.

“And?” she said, meaningfully.  
“What?” Alex said, completely confused.  
“With Sean’s plans, there’s almost always an _and._ ” Moira said, grimly. She folded her arms.  
“And Imaybethought Erik might get jealous and that would help them get together…” Sean started.

Angel banged their heads together again, just for the satisfaction of it.

She banged Alex and Sean’s head together one final time, to express her opinion. Judging by their scarlet faces, they had received her message loud and clear.  
“Why are we being violent to my junior Sword and Charles’ assistant, now?” The amused drawl of the Senior Sword Erik Lensherr had a sudden, shocking effect on the company assembled. Angle jumped, releasing her grip on the boys. Sean yelped again, and both he and Alex turned completely white. Even Moira looked a little discomfited.  
“Where’s Charles?” Erik added.  
“On his way to a telepathy lesson with Emma Frost.” Moira murmured. “Were you looking for him?”  
“It can wait. I’d like an explanation.”   
“For?” Moira said, delaying.

“Why we appear to have started hitting people over the head.” Erik said, slowly and patiently. Really, did he have to repeat himself every time?  
“Perhaps the boys would like to explain themselves.” Angel said. Her eyes were glittering with anger. Erik was taken aback by the strength of her displeasure, but he approved of it. Charles deserved passionate friends. And Sean could be a trial at times, although Alex had never been troublesome before.  
“Well?” Erik was growing impatient.  
“We, ah, I… _kindalostsight_ of Charles last night.” Sean muttered, steadfastly gazing at his shoes. After nine months of trading with Sean as his nephew, Erik was easily able to translate Sean mumble into proper speech.  
“What?” he snapped. Sean _knew_ part of his duties lay in keeping Charles protected when he could not or would not accept Erik’s own protection. And he’d lost track of Charles?  
“How?” Erik demanded. “He never goes anywhere in the evenings, unless Raven bids him to a Court entertainment.” Erik hadn’t even been able to get him out of his rooms to play chess more than once in a moon. Alex screwed his eyes shut. Sean’s head sank as if he was trying to bury it in his shoulders.

“We, I, um,” Sean started, slowly.  
“Spit it out.”  
“Took him out for the evening.” Alex said, his lips barely moving.  
“Where, a late opening bookshop?” Erik snarled. “Why weren’t you-“  
“They took him to Madame Grey’s public salon.” Moira broke in. Erik swung round to her. She stayed completely still. “And didn’t tell him… what kind of a house, House Grey is.”  
Erik gaped, silently, for all of two minutes. Prudently, Sean took a step or two back.

“What.” he said, at last.

“I, I, thought…” Sean trailed off. “I don’t know what I thought.” He added, after a pause.   
“Neither do the rest of us.” Angel said. Moira snorted.  
“So. You both…inveigled the Champion-to-be to house of pleasure, when you know he...” Erik paused. “You both know Charles.” He said, finally. “And during the evening, at this… house of pleasure, you somehow managed to lose sight of Charles, is that correct, Sean Cassidy? Alex Summers?”   
Erik’s voice was low, and calm, but that did not make it any less threatening. Both young men nodded, silently. Erik considered them both, for a long, long moment.   
“You.” He said, eventually, pointing at Sean. “Get to the guardroom, and think about what you’ve done. I will attend you, presently.” Sean’s eyes squeezed shut, and he winced as he nodded again.  
“Sir.” He forced out between his teeth.

“As for you.” Erik turned to Alex. “You’re no Sword. I can’t punish you as I will Sean.” Alex glanced at Sean, alarmed. “But I can do this.” He breathed in “Get out.”  
“What?” Alex stammered.  
“Erik, I don’t think-“ Erik’s frozen stare silenced Moira before she could finish her sentence. Angel moved, restlessly.  
“Go. I do not want to see you in the Palace again, am I clear?” Alex nodded, quietly.   
“Yes, sir.” Shoulders slumped, he stumbled out of the room. Sean followed him.

Erik nodded to Angel and Moira, and set out to find Charles. He knew Frosts’ quarters in the Palace, and he needed to see Charles and, perhaps, calm down a little, before he approached the matter of Sean’s punishment. Just a little. He didn’t want to maim the boy, after all.

Not _permanently,_ anyway.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles tells Erik _no_ about something for the first time. Erik is surprised. Alex is relieved.

Erik strode along, muttering to himself. The look on his face was such that most people appeared to be avoiding him, as much as they could. Good. He didn’t think talking to anyone at the moment would be a good idea. Erik nodded to the guards as he walked past the route to the King’s Audience Hall. He ignored most of the salutes and gestures of respect; he was one of Raven’s Swords, not some nobleman. Why did Emma have to have her chambers so close to the king’s? The guards- he shared a sharp nod with Logan as he stalked along- were all over the place. It was… trying.

The hangings changed to white and ivory, and Erik knew that he had arrived at the right set of doors. He drew a deep breath, and squared his shoulders, reaching for a composure that was normally much easier to find. Erik preferred to be calm around Frost. It was not that the Lady Emma would ever do something as undignified as root around in another’s mind unpermitted, of course, but Erik didn’t like giving anything, even his thoughts, away, for free. He didn’t bother with knocking. Emma would know who he was and where he was, anyway. Erik strode into Emma’s reception chamber, and stopped, staring. Charles was seated by the window, Emma standing behind him. Erik tamped down on a tiny spurt of anger when he saw her hand gripping Charles’ shoulder. Charles’ knuckles were clenched and white on the arms of his chair. His eyes were screwed shut with effort and he was breathing heavily. Charles was looking pale, and… stretched somehow. There was an annoying furrow in his forehead that niggled at Erik. Emma turned her head to look at him, calmly.

“Sword Lensherr.” She said, quietly. Charles’ expression did not change. He gave a tiny, pain filled gasp.  
“Lady Frost.” Erik acknowledged her greeting, but took care to do no more than nod in return. He bent his knee for no one apart from the Royal Family; and they had all been part of King Darkholme’s court for long enough that they all knew it.  
“You’ve come for your Charles.” She said, gently amused at him. Erik set his teeth.  
“I hate to cut this lesson short, but I must speak with him.” Was all he dared allow himself to say.

“Of course, Sword. Of course.” Emma turned back to Charles. Lightly, she moved her hand from his shoulder to his temple. Charles sucked in his breath and opened his eyes.  
“Erik?” He sounded confused.  
“I’m sorry; I need to speak with you, Charles.” Charles nodded, and stepped away from the armchair. His hand moved to his head, and he stood still, swaying for a moment.  
“The dizziness and headache will pass, Champion elect.” Emma said, smoothly. Charles opened his mouth to reply, but closed it as Erik swept in and put a hand on his sleeve.

“Thank you, Lady Frost.” Charles said, faintly, as Erik led him briskly out of the chamber. She gave him a wry mocking smile he didn’t quite catch. Erik did, but he dismissed it. There were more important matters to consider. Matters such as Charles’ well being.  
“Charles, do all your telepathy lessons take it out of you like this?” Erik continued to lead Charles as the other man’s steps faltered and his brow creased. Charles gazed at him, unseeingly.  
“Ah, not really?” Charles sounded tentative, and Erik made a mental note to find out more, later. Charles needed a hand, sometimes, in taking care of himself. He tended not to, unless he was reminded by someone else. Alex had been quite good at it, but now Erik thought, he’d probably have to take care of Charles, at least until he found him a new servant.

And that was something he’d probably have to tell Charles about, sooner rather than later. He gave Logan another nod, and the hairy fool simply smirked in reply. Erik increased their speed.   
“Ah… Erik, what is this about?” Charles sounded worried. “You seem a little... tense.”  
“We can talk about it in your chambers.” Erik said. He doubted Charles wanted to hear the events behind this talked about all over the Palace, or beyond.  
They arrived back in Charles’ chambers just in time to see Alex slinking around, putting his few belongings into a pack. Erik cursed himself. He hadn’t thought this through, properly.  
“Sir. Boss.” Alex said, hoarsely. “I’ll be out of the way in just a few.” He nodded in a cursory salute, and turned back to his packing. He didn’t have much that was definitely just his, and he didn’t want to take anything that didn’t belong to him. Charles wouldn’t mind, but Erik would, and given the mood he’d been in earlier, Alex wouldn’t put it past him to pursue him for theft. And then where would Gabriel be? Abandoned by another brother, that’s what. He swallowed down his nausea.

“Alex?” Charles said, looking absolutely bewildered. “Why are you… what’s wrong?” Alex glanced at Erik, and his shoulders hunched. Charles shook his head, trying to get his thoughts back on track. Nobody was making sense. Erik was radiating watchful self righteousness, and Alex was drowning in dumb, dog like misery and despair. It was giving Charles a headache.  
“He’s packing, Charles.” Erik said, calmly. “Leaving.”  
“I can see that. _Why_ is he packing, Erik? You seem to be better informed about this that I do.” Charles frowned. Carefully he did not mention Alex’s little brother, one of the reasons Alex had needed the job- any job- so desperately.  
“Because of last night, boss.” Alex mumbled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” He trailed off, damp eyed.  
“You didn’t mean to, but you _did_ ” Erik said, sharply. Alex nodded, slowly.

“But you don’t have to- Alex, we talked about this!” Charles said. “Why do you think you have to go?” Alex and Erik both gaped at him. “I mean, unless, you, you feel uncomfortable working with me, but-“   
“No!” Alex said, sharply. Charles jumped. “No, I don’t want to leave, but, Erik said…” he paused, nervously glancing at Erik, who looked back at him, impassively. Charles’ eyes narrowed.  
“Erik?” Charles said, softly. “Can _you_ explain this?  
“Yes.” Erik said, calmly. “When I heard about last night, what he and Sean did-“ Charles interrupted him, as he moved to his favourite armchair.  
“Erik Lensherr, are you telling me you took it upon yourself to, to discipline _my_ … Alex and Sean?” he said, sharply. Erik nodded, moving to sit opposite Charles. Alex hovered, staring hopefully.

“Over a misunderstanding which I’ve already spoken to them about?” Charles said, again quite sharply.  
“They hurt you, Charles.” Erik snapped, glaring at Alex. “They took you-“  
“I know, Erik, I was there.” Charles said, with heavy irony. “What did you do?”  
“So I fired Alex.” Erik said, slowing down.  
“No you didn’t.” Charles said, calmly. He didn’t feel very calm, but he was able to sound it, at least. He hated confrontation, and Erik was always so forceful. But Charles couldn't let this happen.  
“Yes, he did, boss.” Alex’s voice was soft.  
“No, Alex, he didn’t.” A tiny voice was shrieking at Charles to stop, now, before he got hurt. He ignored it. Alex needed this job. Gabriel had no one else to support him at school.   
“Because he can’t.” Charles said, staring straight at Erik. Charles liked Alex, and Alex had always been loyal and diligent. If misguided.

“Can’t I, Charles?” Erik said, quietly. Charles gulped. Alex held his breath.  
“No.” Charles said, with great finality. “You can’t. Alex works for _me_.”  
“Ah.” Erik said, uncomfortably. He had not expected Charles to react quite so strongly as this. Or to disagree with him so much; he never had before.  
“Please tell me you haven’t tried to fire Sean?” Charles’ voice turned worried.  
“No, I haven’t even touched him, yet.” Erik said, quickly.  
“Good.” Charles said. Erik still looked confused, so he explained further, for his and for Alex’s benefit.  
“Erik, I had considered last night’s… misunderstandings already dealt with. Taking it…”He faltered. “Taking it upon yourself to punish them for something that happened to me, that I consider over, it’s not… it makes me look…” _Weak_ , he didn’t want to say. 

Erik winced. Perhaps he had over reacted. Alex had looked to be truly in despair when they came in, too.   
“You’re right, I’m sorry, and I didn’t think.” He said, hastily. Charles breathed out, in relief. So did Alex, loudly enough that they both glanced over at him. Alex froze, caught by both stares.  
“Alex?” Charles said, very gently. “Can you give us a moment?” Alex nodded, frantically.   
“Sure thing boss. I’ll, I’ll just… be out of here.” He scurried out. Erik snorted. Charles glared at him, sternly.  
“He really relies on this job, you know.”   
“He’s paid enough for it.” Erik said, defensively.

“Yes, and he’s using his money to put his little brother through school.” Charles said, mildly.  
“I didn’t know he had a brother.” Erik said. “I’m sorry, Charles.” He really did sound sorry, and Charles resolved to forgive him for his hasty and bizarre over reaction.  
“Just tell me Sean’s still in one piece.” Charles said, lightly.   
“Oh yes. Waiting in the guardroom.” Thank goodness he hadn’t broken Sean’s arms for him yet.  
“Well, now you’re not _actually_ planning to murder him, I suppose he can wait a bit longer.” Charles said, lightly. “I do think the whole thing was more his ideas than Alex’s.”  
“Hmpf.” Erik grumbled, wordlessly. “Wasn’t going to kill him.” Charles looked at him, dubious. “Much.” Erik admitted, ruefully.

“Well, seeing as Alex is probably going to hide for a little while, can I pour you a glass of wine?” Charles said, rising and advancing to the sideboard.  
“Please.” Erik said. “All this jumping to conclusions’ thirsty work, you know.” Charles smiled, and poured the wine.  
“Did you…” Erik said. Charles handed him his wine. “Thank you.” “Last night…” he trailed off.  
“Last night I met a pleasant young lady, yes.” Charles said, carefully not smiling.  
“Oh.” Said, Erik, blankly. Somehow he’d not thought of that. Or thought Charles would… just speak about it, so readily. “I hope you both…” he tailed off again.  
“She introduced me to her mother.” Charles said. Erik’s eyebrows rose.  
“Unusual” he said, at last.

“Erik, she was _ten_.” Charles said, patiently. “Sneaking about where she shouldn’t be.” He smiled, fondly. “I used to do that, when my mother held parties.”  
“Ah.” Erik said, carefully.   
“Also, her mother told me I had misunderstood the wording of our… my vows.” Charles said, shyly. His cheeks pinked.  
“How so?” Erik asked. He took a mouthful of wine.  
“Um. Apparently, I didn’t take a vow of celibacy, when I took my oaths to Raven?” Charles said, embarrassed.

Erik choked on his wine.  
“Erik, are you alright?”

“Fine.” Erik wheezed. “I’m fine.” He was reeling. Charles’s behaviour of the past few month- since Charles had become Champion- suddenly appeared in a new light. Perhaps… "Is that what… you thought you had sworn to?” Erik said, once his lungs had resumed their usual functions. He dabbed at his shirt, now wine splattered.  
“Of course, possibly I wanted to think that…” Charles was saying thoughtfully. Erik’s attention snapped back to him.  
“You prefer celibacy?” Erik said. He tried not to sound disappointed. Charles was still crimson in colour.  
“Not precisely.” Charles admitted. Erik began to consider hope. “I never did much… bedroom service.” Charles said. “It’s just… I’ve never found it, um, rewarding. Not being celibate, I mean.” Erik began to consider murder, of persons unknown.

“They hurt you?” he demanded. Charles looked startled, and then touched.  
“Oh, only the first, really. And he’s dead.” Erik still looked murderous. There was a silence.   
“Bedroom service, as you put it, Charles, I’m fairly sure is not the same thing.” Erik said.   
“I suppose… I suppose I should think about that.” Charles said, slowly.   
“Ah…” Erik said, and then bit his tongue, hard, before he could offer to help.  
“Or something.” Charles adds. Erik kept his tongue between his teeth, and cast about for something neutral to say.

“How did the lesson with Emma go?” He said at last. Charles sighed, and told him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw is really very creepy. Emma has no soul and no empathy. Potentially triggery plans and off screen activities; please read the trigger warning decriptive note at the end first if you’re uncertain.

“Is it safe to talk freely, my Lady?”  
“Of course.” She smiled, a little. "The walls are proofed against listening, and my maid is laid up with a sick headache in her chamber.” Lady Emma Frost said, calmly, to the King’s Champion. She smiled, and waited for the inevitable. Sebastian was a little predictable at times; it was one of the reasons she worked with the man. That, and his abilities.  
“Well?” he barked, eventually. Lord Sebastian Shaw was a curiously impatient man; for someone who would probably outlive the rest of the worlds’ generations, Lady Frost thought. She glanced up at the pacing Champion, coolly.  
“Well, what, Lord Shaw?” He glared at her, briefly.

“Are you any further into Xavier’s head than you were before you snared him into lessons?”  
“I did nothing of the sort. I merely offered Dr Foley my expertise-“  
“Oh, cut the syrup, Emma!” She frowned at him, delicately, until he huffed out an explosive breath and slumped into a chair, almost elegantly.  
“I apologise. My lady, will you _please_ cut the syrup?” He smiled at her in a manner probably intended to appear charming. Possibly even seductive.  
“Not really.” She was forced to concede. She ignored his sigh. “The Champion-to-be is not strong-willed, or openly defiant to my mind, but he is remarkably evasive.” Shaw rolled his eyes. Emma ignored him. 

“Given that you wanted to avoid his mind’s subjugation to my- to our will becoming public knowledge, I have to work slowly.”  
“Huh.” Shaw grunted. “He’s a slave, surely he’s learnt to follow orders?” Emma smiled.  
“That he has. But he’s learnt to hide his… core, his self, very well, too.”  
“From you?” She did not pretend to be flattered by his surprise.  
“Even from me. He is a telepath himself, you know.”  
“I do trust you’re keeping that from developing?” Shaw said, sharply. One telepath around the place was bad enough. He’d hate to have to outwit two.

“Of course. That’s easy. Weaning him away from his current loyalties, _unnoticeably_ \- that is not easy.” Emma said, placidly.  
“And his memory?” Shaw asked, almost concealing his interest.  
“Still fine.” Emma said, calmly. “I can make him forget, and I have done, but I can’t then hide the missing time from him. He accepts it happening in our “lessons”; but not at any other time. And not for long.” Lord Shaw pouted.  
“A shame. Really, my dear, I would almost accuse you of being jealous.”  
Emma laughed, and took a sip of her icewine.  
“Of course, my Lord, I _dream_ of being forced by you, and forgetting it after.” Her voice and laugh were thick with a contemptuous irony that made him flush.

“It would not be the same!” Shaw snapped.  
“I know that. And you’d accuse me of jealousy?” Emma shook her head, and laughed. “My Lord, I pray you, do _not_ underestimate me.”  
“Oh, Lady Frost.” He said, lazily. “I would never risk doing that. It’s part of your appeal.”  
“And what is about Xavier that you find appealing, appealing enough to risk your plans to have?” She forced herself to toy with her wineglass, idly, hiding the interest she had in his answer.  
“Oh, nothing much.” He said, lying badly. “He’s not… entirely unattractive, although I think he would look better in bruises.” 

She raised a mocking brow.  
“And you think he’s Lensherr’s, of course.” She said. Sebastian flushed.  
“They’re as thick as thieves; I’m sure our dull first Sword has taught him all he likes.” Emma laughed again. _So, so obvious._  
“Lensherr hasn’t touched him.” Emma said, lightly.  
“You assured me-“  
“I did, but our poor dear Champion to be misinterpreted an oath he took.”  
“No.” Shaw breathed, delighted.  
“Yes. He’d girded his loins- pretty enough loins, too- for a life of celibacy. He knows better now.” They both laughed.

Emma let the Champion brood and dream a little over that, but when his imaginings grew too heated, she broke in upon them again.  
“And how do your plans progress, my Lord?” He threw her a sharp glance.  
“Well enough.”  
“And how well is enough?” She said, light and cold. “We can’t all claim to have the length of time you do, for our plots to ripen.”  
“Did you not just counsel me to patience, Lady?” he said, gently mocking. “I have agreed; when I take power here; you will be by my side.”  
“As your Queen.” She said, sharply. Wordlessly he nodded.  
“I will admit, I had underestimated the royal Brat; but she’s made of too stubborn a clay for me to work with easily. I _could_ wait a generation or so; but why should I deny you your chance for a crown, my pretty one?” 

Sebastian didn’t quite dare move to chuck her under the chin, so he settled for moving the pieces on her chessboard. Emma resisted grinding her teeth. She did not trust the man; and he was too old and too wily for to be able to read his mind without him knowing she had done so, and he promised her, quite pleasantly, that if he felt a flicker of her mind in his, he would not hesitate to kill her. Emma disliked being forced to fall back on more tradition methods of influence. But she would be Queen here. She _would_. If only her great-grandmother had been truly wed to the Genoshan Prince who had fathered her children, or Sebastian had been willing to lie about it; why, Emma would have had the throne as soon as Raven ceased to fly. And if Raven had been the only thing between Emma and true power in the eyes of the world, she would not have lived long. But no, Lord Shaw had refused to use his status as Champion that way. 

“You’re such a strange creature, Sebastian.” She said. “You appear to care only for your games.”  
“My dear. Everything is a game.” He protested. “And _all_ the games are mine, in the end.” Idly, he tipped the beautifully carved White King off the chessboard, and stooped to pick it up again. He threw her a crooked grin.  
“I’m the only person who’ll live long enough to see them played out, you see.” After a moment, she smiled. “Now. If you can’t get me the man I want, who can you get me?” Shaw said, smiling hungrily. Emma recognised the look. Fortunately, she had made preparations.  
“As I said.” She smiled, slowly. “My maid is laid down in her chambers with a sick headache. Again.”  
“The poor thing. I hope her health is good?” Shaw said, sympathetically.  
“Yes, but her memory… Emma paused. “Her will…” Already, Shaw was breathing faster “They’re a little weak. I have to keep an eye on her, my Lord.”

“Indeed.” he said, finally.  
Inwardly, Emma sighed. He’d better not break or impregnate this one as he had the last. Good maids were hard to find.  
“This way, my Lord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Rape.
> 
> Apart fom his other nefarious plans for him, Shaw wants to rape Charles and get Emma to wipe his memory, afterwards. She can't and not leave a trace, as Charles is a telepath, too, so she offers him her maid servant to rape instead. Please do not read this chapter if that would hurt you. Please.
> 
> I have no idea where that came from. I was just writing a chapter with two creepy plotting villains plotting their villainy, and suddenly, I dropped all this non con every where. *blinks*
> 
> *crawls away in an attenpt to locate her shame*


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles gives a present, has a chat, and gets drunk.

“Oh, Anne-Marie!” Charles called out, happily. “Just the person I was looking for!” He waved a lumpy packet at her, cheerfully.  
“Hello, Uncle- Sword Charles!” Anne Marie chirped. She recalled her manners hastily. “Mother is waiting for you in her parlour; may I show you the way?” Charles’ eyes twinkled; after so many quiet cups of tisane, there, he knew the way to Jean’s private parlour as well as she did. She dropped him a fluttering curtsey, and only swayed a little. Instantly, he dipped into an elegant and formal bow. Propriety satisfied, she threw herself into his arms for a hug, and he returned it just as fiercely. Charles was one of the very few people who didn’t fear Anne-Marie’s Gift; and it was one of the reasons she loved him. She was afraid of it herself; one touch of skin to skin could drain off another’s Gift, or their very life, if they didn’t have one, but Charles had never backed away from her.

“Mother, Uncle Charles is here!” she said, happily, leading Charles in by his lacy shirt cuffs. He wasn’t wearing gloves, and neither was she, so lace holding it had to be.  
“So I see. Welcome, Champion-Elect.” Jean said, and poured out Charles’s wine. They sipped sweet wine, and nibbled on cakes- Charles eating more than the others as he felt Jean’s critical eye on his still too slender form.  
“You don’t have to eat more simply because I worry, you know.”  
“I know, but these are very good cakes.” Charles said, meekly.” Jean smiled into her winecup. “Oh, I forgot.” Charles said again, and fumbled for the parcel. “Anne-Marie, these are for you.” Eagerly, Anne-Marie seized the parcel and began to unwrap it when a quiet murmur from Jean made her remember her manners.  
“Thank you, Swor- Uncle Charles! What is it?” He smiled, and gestured at her to open it.

“They’re not new, I’m afraid, but they are quite pretty-“ Anne Marie squealed as the parcel opened and a pair of fabulously embroidered elbow length silk gloves fell into her lap.  
“Charles, are those _genuine seed pearls_?” Jean said, startled. Charles grinned.   
“Yes. And silver thread. Moon flowers, you see.”  
“You found gloves worked like that? For a child?” Jean stared.  
“Yes. Raven hardly ever wears gloves now; she shifts her skin most of the time. But when she was a child, she couldn’t-“ Charles said, just a little nervously as he watched Anne Marie try them on.

“I’m wearing a princesses’ gloves?” she said, sounded awed.  
“No, love, you’re wearing your gloves.” Charles said, and sighed. “I’m sorry, I know having to cover up is-“ Anne Marie giggled, and Charles relaxed.   
“I love them! Did- did the Princess know-“ Anne Marie faltered. She didn’t want to sound silly. But... might Charles have tole the Lady about her?  
“It was her idea.” Charles assured her. “She wanted to know who I met, when I come here, so I told her all about you, of course, and she said the only gloves she’s ever been able to wear happily were the silk ones, and would you like some of the pairs she had when she was your age?” Jean choked on her wine. Charles glanced at her, anxiously.  
“I love them!” Anne Marie said, staring enraptured. “They have little birds on the cuffs, look!” Jean smiled, and Charles relaxed. “May I go show them off?” she asked, hopefully. Jean nodded, and she sprang from her seat, dipped to hug Charles round the shoulders, and hurried off.

“That was kind of you.” Jean said, after a pause. Charles waved a hand, uncomfortably.  
“No, really, Anne Marie hates her gift; and the gloves I can afford are nothing like as beautiful or as wearable.”  
“It was Raven’s idea.” Charles said. Jean nodded.  
“And how are matters at Court?” she asked, after a pause. Charles sagged a little.  
“Busy.” He said, ruefully. “I haven’t managed to fit in another lesson with Lady Emma.” Charles did not say, that the lessons had moved from dull to outright painful. He would rather not be a telepath, if all it brought was pain, but he could hardly say that to Jean, of course.  
“And Erik? I know you have been talking- well, somehwat more than talking- since we first met.” Charles looked down at his hands in his lap, trying to avoid her too clear gaze. 

“It’s...” He trailed off. “Are you sure it’s worth it?” He said, at last.  
“That’s for you to say.” Jean said, and waited. “Does he know how you feel about this?” Jean said. Miserably, Charles nodded.  
“He only kisses me because he knows I’d say no, if I really needed to.” He explained.  
“I- he kisses me, he hugs me, and that’s- I can bear that, but if there’s skin, if-“ Charles broke off and drew a deep breath.   
“I want him to be happy, but, but… he wants me to enjoy it, and I can’t, I just… I just want to go numb. Like before.”  
Jean nodded. She knew what he meant by “before.” Slavery left many scars; few of them visible to the naked eye.  
“But, if I don’t mind, and he likes it, why isn’t that enough for him?” Charles said. “Why does he keep insisting _I_ have to enjoy it?”   
“You think he shouldn’t care how you feel?” Jean kept her voice gentle.

 _-I don’t know!-_ he snapped at her, mentally. Jean blinked. Charles had been quite vocal; telepathically, at their first meeting, but that had trailed off lately.  
 _-Does how he feels matter to you?”-_  
 _-Of course!_ His mental voice was indignant. Jean smiled.  
 _-Then why should he be different in how he feels about you?!-_ She returned, smartly. Charles blinked, and only then did he seem to realise that they had been talking silently.  
“Oh- um, I’m sorry-“ he faltered. Jean’s eyebrows rose.

“What for?”   
“I- Lady Frost- she said I have no concept of mental manners-” Charles flushed, hot with remembered shame at the biting scorn Lady Frost shown. Deliberately, Jean sent him her feelings about that, with the mental sound of a blown raspberry. Weakly, Charles smiled. Deliberately, Jean re filled his wine glass,  
“Bother her!” she said firmly. “She doesn’t matter here.” Charles drank off half his glass in one gulp, and nodded.

***********************

“Hey, Summers!” Logan pounded on the door to the Champion Elect’s chambers. “I know you’re in here! Got a delivery for you!”   
Warily, Alex opened the door a crack, and peeked out. Logan was grinning at him from way to close. He was holding something.  
“Hello, Alex! Are we home yet?” Charles slurred cheerily. Some _one_  
“What, getting him drunk once wasn’t enough for you?” Alex snapped. Charles gave him a wounded stare. Logan smiled, or at least showed all his teeth by curbing his mouth upwards.  
“’Mm not drunk!” Charles said. Logan and Alex stared at him for a moment. 

Alex opened the door wide enough and Logan walked Charles inside. Charles smiled happily on seeing his chambers. He seemed to be unaware of the fact that his feet were not actually touching the floor as he tried to walk.  
“Madam Grey herself asked me t’walk him home.” Logan shrugged. “He's too light. You need t’feed him more.”

“I can’t help it if he doesn’t eat; I can’t exactly force it into his mouth and down his throat, can I?” Alex snapped. Charles’ eyes widened.  
“I don’t want to do that again.” He said in a small voice. Logan scowled.  
“S’okay, boss, I would _never-_ “ Alex said, hastily. Charles smiled again, brightly.  
“Oh, that’s good then.” Alex handed him a glass of water.   
“Can you try drinking that, boss? Good for headaches.” Charles drank it off in a single gulp, throat working as he swallowed. He paused, wiped his mouth, and said, seriously.   
“I don’t have a headache, though.” Logan let out a crack of laughter.  
“Not yet, bub.” He clapped a hand on Charles’ shoulder and turned to go. “I’ll see myself out. You put him to bed now, Summers.” He waved an idle salute and was gone. Inwardly Alex muffled a deep sigh.

“Come on, boss, let’s get you settled.” He said, and walked towards Charles’ bedroom. Obediently, Charles trundled after him, chattering away as he went, about Jean, and Erik, and Anne-Marie, and Erik, and Raven, and Erik.”  
“Sensing a theme here, boss.” Alex said, as he guided Charles to sit on the bed. Charles cocked his head at him, confused.  
“I thought you gift was-“ Alex bent and pulled off Charles boots.  
“Punching things without touching them? It is.” He grunted, and stripped off Charles socks, too.  
“Oh.” Charles said. Obediently, he lifted one arm, and then the other. Alex sighed.  
“You have to stand, Charles, if you want me to take off your coat. I can’t while you’re sitting on it.”  
“Oh yes.” Charles said, happily, and lurched upright. “You’re very patient with me, you know.” Alex smiled.  
“You’re no bother, boss.” He eased the finely embroidered velvet off Charles’ shoulders. “Was it a bad session?” Alex said, gently.

Charles’ forehead crinkled; he looked like Gabriel trying to work out how to get out of something. Alex’s little brother was older enough now to recognise the value of education, but it had taken a while; and plenty of cash: time and money Alex had not had until Charles had hired him and paid him so lavishly, once he’d heard about the whole orphans thing. Without even trying, Charles was a better brother to Gabriel than Scott had ever been, that was for damn sure.  
“No. Maybe. Just a little.” Charles said, carefully.  
“Yeah, ‘cause you don’t usually- and by that, I mean, ever- get drunk. And all you do is talk to her?” Alex said, laying the coat to one side. Scott had wanted to do more with Jean, once, but he’d gone to be a Sword, and he hadn’t come back. He was dead before the Summers boys were orphans, even. But Charles didn’t seem entranced by her.  
“Sometimes… we whisper!” Charles said. Alex laughed. Charles brightened up again.

Carefully, Alex began unlacing Charles’s shirt cuffs and neck bands. They were delicate and fine lacework that would not survive the heavy laundering his shirts went through. Alex washed them himself, although he had planned on never telling Charles that.  
“You’d just feel you had to wear something easy-wash, wouldn’t you?” he murmured. Charles stared at him, puzzled.  
“Never mind, boss.” The creases in his forehead smoothed out. Charles’s shirt was pretty clean, and Alex knew how much he hated being naked in front of others; what with the scars from old beatings and everything, so he decided he wouldn’t try and make his boss get into a nightshirt when his day shirt was available.  
“Trousers, boss.” Alex reminded Charles as he tried to sit down again. Wearily, Charles began to fumble with the ties. Once undone, they slipped down his thighs easily, and Alex helped him step out of them.

Alex tugged back the sheet and blankets, and watched as Charles flopped into them gracelessly. He tugged at Charles’ arm, until the man was lying more or less comfortably. Then he smoothed the covers over him, and set the chamber pot at a strategic distance from the bed. There was always water ready on Charles’ nightstand, so Alex started to blow out the lamps. He left a single lamp burning and set it by the window. He knew Charles didn’t like waking into complete blackness. The lamp helped.  
“You’re very kind, Alex.” Charles said, solemnly. Lying on his side like that, eyes wide in the dim room, Alex was reminded of Gabriel again.  
“Nah, not really, boss.” Alex said. Charles smiled, slightly. “Now go to sleep.” Charles shut his eyes. Quietly, Alex left the room. He had collars and cuffs to see to.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and Erik have a little chat. Why is Charles behaving oddly? Charles gets ready for another lesson in telepathy from LAdy Frost.

“Well?” Erik said, brusquely. He felt foolish, hanging about outside a closed door.  
“He’s asleep.” Alex said. “Still.” Erik looked a little lost. He had not anticipated his feelings for Charles would lead him into cross questioning his servant, but the man had been growing steadily… skittish, of late. Erik wanted to know why. Raven had remarked on it- and so had Moira. If they were noticing Charles had begun to behave oddly, it would not be long before the Court did. And that could cause him- them- problems.  
“Is he… well?” he gritted out.

“Yeah, he’s fine. Went out last evening, drank some wine.” Erik frowned. “Just… his sessions, um, talks, down at Madame G’s, they always wipe him out.” Alex bit his lip, anticipating another explosion. Erik merely looked weary.  
“You don’t need to worry. Charles has made it quite clear he makes his own decisions.” He said, heavily. “I just… He’s gotten quieter lately. Raven worries about him.”  
“He’s ok.” Alex said, quietly. “I’d know.” Erik nodded.  
“You don’t think he’s changed, lately?” he prodded. Alex’s eyes opened wide.

“Changed?” Alex said, slowly. He let the door drift shut behind him. Had Charles changed?  
“Since… his first visit.” Erik said, slowly. Alex did not need to ask what Erik was talking about. He hunched his shoulders, and then he shrugged.  
“He seems a little distant.” Erik said, quietly. Distant wasn’t really the word Erik wanted to use. He’d hardly seen Charles, lately. They were both busy about the King’s business, often enough, but this felt different somehow. The last time they had tried to share pleasure been a failure, like all the others, but it had also ended in a sharp argument that Erik had thought was unlike Charles. 

Somehow, something was wrong. Was Charles concealing something that was troubling him? Why was he running away from him so often? What had Erik done that he needed to change or apologise for? Erik was afraid to ask; and so he was reduced to cross-questioning the other man’s servants, sulking about and spying on the man he cared for. Much more of this, and Erik’d be headed off down the hill to drink tea with Madame Grey himself.  
“Well, I organise his meetings and that sort of thing- he’s real busy, lately. between his lessons with Lady Frost and Madame Grey, and his work, and the Council meetings, maybe he’s a bit distracted?” Alex said.

“Maybe.” Erik allowed. “I know he’s capable of so much. I just… I want him to be capable of being happy. And, I’m not entirely. I wonder if something’s wrong.” Alex blinked. That had been awfully… honest of the Sword. He felt torn between his loyalty to Charles, and his desire to help.  
“I… uh, yeah.” He managed after a while. Erik looked as if he was regretting having opened his mouth.  
“I hope I don’t have to tell you to hold this conversation in confidence?” he growled. Alex raised his hands defensively, palms spread. He felt a little anger that Erik still didn’t trust him.

He reminded himself, it wasn’t like Erik didn’t know Alex had made a stupid decision about Charles’ best interests before.  
“Hey, I understand, sir. I don’t want to be one of those servants gossiping behind their master’s back, either.” At that, Erik nodded.  
“I would not think you’d be one of those.” He allowed. “You are beginning to think before you act.” Alex raised his eyebrows. “Only beginning.” Erik said, and looked up as the door behind Alex opened suddenly. Alex stiffened.

“Alex, who are you- Oh. Hello, Erik!” Charles smiled at them both, sleepily, and moved to embrace the Sword. Erik returned the hug, a little stiffly, Alex thought, but then the shirt Charles was wearing only just reached his knees, and he wasn’t wearing anything else. That would make anyone a little clumsy. It seemed Charles had made use of the headache potion, too. Alex was pleased he’s had some of Dr Foley’s medicine in stock. His boss has been getting way too many headaches, lately. He didn’t need one from a hangover as well. 

“Hello, Charles.” Erik rumbled. Charles sighed happily in Erik’s embrace and laid his head on the taller man’s chest. Erik began to smile.  
“Hello, Erik.” A cloud passed over his expression, then, and he pulled himself out of the hug, carefully. “What can I do for you?” Charles backed away, and stepped through the open door into his chambers. No longer smiling, Erik followed him.   
“Nothing, I was just dropping by.” 

Alex shut the door behind them. Erik cleared his throat   
“Because I’ll be away for a short while- I wanted to say goodbye.” Charles smiled.  
“Will you be gone long?” He said.  
“Not long.” Erik said. “A few days. A problem with the Lord Shaw’s lands- I’m the best man to talk to his farmers, apparently.” He rolled his eyes. It seemed as if nothing would pry Shaw out of the Court and away from the ailing King these days. Charles grimaced in sympathy.

Alex turned to lay out his boss’s clothes for the day. Erik watched him, and Charles watched Erik. For a moment there was silence.   
“Well. Speed to your horse’s heels, then.” Charles said, softly. Alex blinked at the lace cuffs he was holding. Erik coughed.  
“Yes. I’ll see you?” He moved to the door, tipped a lazy salute and was gone.

“I’ll go get the hot water.” Alex said, eventually. From somewhere, Charles summoned up a thin smile.   
“Please do.” He said, quietly. “I have a meeting with Lady Frost first thing.”  
“Is the telepathy getting any better?” Alex said, interestedly. Charles frowned.   
“Not really. I felt a few flickers at first- and Jean can hear me- but nothing more.”  
“I’m sorry, boss.” Alex said, as he collected Charles’ hot water jug and basin. “Seems to me like it would be useful.”

Charles smiled a little more, grateful Alex had decided not to comment on the obvious tensions surrounding him and Erik.   
“Yes. But, as it is, all I ever seem to get are headaches and dizziness.”  
“Could always skip the lessons?” Alex said, carefully. “Seems to me they make you ill, every time.”  
“Oh, no… I couldn’t- that wouldn’t be right. Lady Frost would be.” Charles said, confusedly. “It wouldn’t be right.” He trailed off, rubbing at his temples again.

“And now you got the headache even before the lesson.” Alex said. Charles frowned unhappily. “Eat some breakfast.” Alex advised him. “I’ll be back before you know it.”  
“Thank you, Alex.” Charles said, quietly, and rubbed his fore head again.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lesson doesn't go as Emma intended

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emma is not a nice person when she's attempting mind control. Be warned!

Lady Emma Frost glared at the top of the Champion Elect’s head. Two months she’d been trying to get into his thick skull, and the telepathically crippled ex slave had managed to keep her out, every time. It’s been frustrating. Emma has been able to plant little seeds of doubt, little feelings of discomfort and unworthiness, but that is all. Certainly, having to be undetectable in operation limits her options a little, as people might notice if one of the higher powers at Court starts acting radically differently. Also the curious life the ex slave had led before Sword Erik picked him up had given his mind a certain base and stubborn cunning, too. But still, she’s not used to not being able to do as she wishes in someone’s mind, and the whole thing displeases her immensely. Sebastian had been able to exercise his most exquisite sarcasm on her; and she’s had to find another maid servant. All because this ex slave won’t bend the way she wants him to. Or the way Lord Shaw wants him to. And, reluctantly, Emma admits to herself, she needs Shaw’s support, to make herself Queen. Once she is Queen, her throne established, well… Shaw says he’s centuries old, that he can’t die. It might be worth finding out how much of what he says is reliable. Emma’s not worried. Even if he’s immortal, he’s not omnipotent. As soon as she no longer needs him- Lord Shaw will be off the playing board.

Impatiently, she raked her mental fingers through Charles’ mind. He flinched. She stayed standing behind the chair he was sat in, and let him sweat a little more.  
 _-think of nothing-_ she advised him calmly, at last. _–keep your mind empty and calm-_  
Inwardly, she hid a smile; the poor fool’s mind never stopped buzzing. As well ask the man to fly as to calm his mind. She felt Charles trying to slow his thoughts and set herself to catching and amplifying the ones that were the most useful to her. Trust in herself- no, that wasn’t there, but he trusted the value of what they were apparently trying to do. Self doubt. That needed all the emphasis she could give it, in Charles Xavier’s mind. An uncertain Champion elect, ready to be guided, to be moulded- that was what both Emma and her ally required. A weak Champion was vital for Emma, because she intended to remove the princess he was vowed to defend, and vital for Lord Shaw, because he made a better playing piece that way.

But removing his will, his confidence had to be done carefully, or Charles would simply turn to his previous owners for support, and that would never do. Emma intended to own him; mind and soul, eventually. She walked around the chair and looked at him. Maybe she’d take his body, as well. He was not unattractive, even now, when his eyes were squeezed shut in pain and his freckles stood out like imperfections against his pale skin. Certainly there had to be _something_ unusually enticing about him, else Sebastian wouldn’t be so eager for her to be able to wipe his memory. Another thing Charles had resisted her will on. Charles’ grip of his memories, his sense of himself, was _very_ strong, too strong for her to prise from his grasp easily. Perhaps it was a legacy of his life before slavery, Shaw had said. Neither of them could understand why the Champion elect clung so fiercely to memories that were mostly filled with pain and humiliation. Strange, stubborn little man that he was. Still, they had provided plenty of entertainment to Emma, and later on, Lord Shaw, when she relayed them to him.

Emma smiled, remembering the last time they done that.   
Charles opened his eyes, and winced as the daylight stabbed at his headache again. Emma was fond of that headache. She cultivated it every time they had a lesson. Mentally, she shook herself. Shaw would be coming to see her shortly, and she wanted to have this wrapped up by then. Experimentally, she prodded at Charles’ mind again, and he shuddered, pleasingly, in pain. His blue, blue eyes opened wide and hurt.  
“That… that _hurt_.” He said, aloud. Emma said nothing. _–Why?-_ He sent. Emma flicked his thought away. The query was vague and weak; he was to forget it. She tried to plant the idea (again) that telepathy was naturally painful and difficult.

Charles frowned, slowly.

“You…” his mind probed outwards. “You _like_ that. You _wanted_ to do that.” Emma batted his thoughts away, harder this time.  
 _–Why do you want this to hurt me?-_ His thought was tinged with horror and what Emma sensed was the beginnings of anger. It stung, somehow. How dared this slave, this crippled telepath question her? Defy her? Emma was going to be _Queen_. No one was allowed to stand in _her_ way. Hastily, she clamped down on her thoughts.  
 _-why-_ Charles thought again, weakly.  
 _-Because you’re so damn pretty in pain-_ Emma thought, before she could stop herself. Too loudly. She tensed, as she realised he’d caught it. Charles gasped, aloud, and tried to scramble out of the chair. Emma leaned forwards and clamped her hands over his, pinning him in place with her weight. Charles stared at her, bewildered and terrified. He opened his mouth. Emma caught at him, quickly, muffling his ability to talk before he could scream for help. He shook his head from side to side, but he made no noise. Emma grinned down at him, mirthlessly.

 _-Let me go!-_ The sudden strength of his mind, fuelled by fear, shocked Emma. She pushed back.  
“Calm down, Sword Xavier.” She said aloud. Wordlessly, Charles shook his head, struggling against her mental grip. –Forget this, and calm down. Now!- she ordered him. Mutely, he shook his head again. The sudden eruption of awareness and defiance in Charles enraged Emma even as it frightened her. Charles resisted her grasp again, and she lashed out, viciously. She _pushed_ herself into his mind, harshly, and grabbed for his memories. Charles gave a short, choked, cry. Emma ignored his mental struggles, and pushed harder. She was a trained telepath, she had power and experience on her side, and she _would not be denied_. 

Something in him gave, snapping dully under her force of will. Charles’ thoughts splintered, scattering away from Emma’s grip, shooting away from her grip like ice squeezed too tightly. Emma wanted to swear. Even when he was breaking, Charles still resisted her will. She drew a quick breath, regrouping. Charles slumped back against the chair, limply. His eyes fluttered and his head lolled. Emma grabbed for his mind again, but he passed out too quickly for her to be certain the changes she needed had taken root. Blood had begun to trickle from his nose, sluggishly. Unconcious, Charles’s mind wisped away from her, like smoke. Emma’s face twisted in rage and fear. She raised her hand and slapped him, harshly. His head snapped to one side, thumping dully off the back of the chair.

“Dear me, Lady Frost.” A dry voice spoke from behind her. “Are all your lessons this exciting?” Emma swung round with a curse.   
“Lord Shaw.” She said, tonelessly. Sebastian bowed, mockingly. His eyes were burningly bright with an excitement she didn’t quite grasp.   
“I repeat, my lady. What are you doing with our poor dear Champion elect?” She stared at him, steadily.  
“What you advised me to do, my lord.” She smiled, ice sharp. Shaw smiled back at her.  
Behind them, ignored in their sharp clash of wills, Charles groaned.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw loses one of his favourite gaming pieces, but looks to make up for it by taking another. Emma takes up running. Charles is in trouble.

Mock chidingly, Sebastian shook a reproachful finger at her. Emma set her teeth together firmly. If she needed to survive this mishap and maintain her position at Court, she needed Lord Shaw’s support.   
“This seems quite far removed from the ah, subtleness that you _usually_ employ, my dear.” He brushed past her, and bent over the Champion elect’s slumped form, curiously.  
“I told you.” She gritted out from between clenched jaws. “He’s naturally resistant.”  
“So I see.” Shaw purred, fingers busy among the lace and folds at Charles’ throat. Charles groaned again. Deftly, Sebastian unfastened his neck cloth, and pulled it away, leaving the neck bare and vulnerable. He wrapped a hand around the semi conscious mans’ throat and squeezed, briefly. Charles’ breathing faltered, but he didn’t move.  
“What are you doing?” Emma said, caught between curiosity and anger that Shaw would ignore her. 

Casually, Lord Shaw used the neck cloth to blot most of the blood from Charles’ slack face. “He’s making a mess of himself.” Blood had already spoilt the fine linen shirt. “You weren’t very gentle, my dear. What were you thinking?”  
“He… began to catch on. To me. And there was a, a problem.” Emma said. Shaw stopped fiddling with Charles and turned to face her, one eyebrow cocked. Angrily, she continued. “Then he showed fight. Of course I had to slap him down. Otherwise he might have-“  
“It seems to me, Emma dear, you were not entirely honest when you said you were more powerful a telepath than he is.” Shaw said, silkily. She felt a sudden chill slip down her spine.  
“I am more powerful”. Emma insisted. How dare Shaw imply she was weaker than some piece of Westchester trash? “He just… I had to stop him struggling.” That was all it was. She could turn the man’s brain to mush, given a free hand. She was sure of it. Charles’ breathing faltered again. 

Slowly, Charles' eyes opened. He stared, dully. Shaw whirled back to him.  
“How are you feeling?” he said quickly. Charles opened his mouth, but no sound came out.  
Swiftly, Emma flicked a probe at the Champion’s mind, and recoiled from the confused pain and fear emanating from it, like steam from a boiling cauldron.  
“I… I...” Charles said, staring, wide eyed at the King’s Champion. He licked his lips, and continued, shakily; “I don’t know who you are, sir.”  
“What?” Sebastian snapped. Charles visibly cringed away from the tall, apparently angry man looming over him.   
“I… I’m sorry, sir.” He mumbled, and began to shiver. Emma sighed. Shaw whirled round to Emma, demanding urgently.  
“What did you _do_?” Emma tried another probe.  
“His memory’s gone.” She said, matter-of-factly. “What are we going to say?”  
“Gone?” Shaw said, angrily. “Completely?” Emma shrugged.  
“Possibly.” She looked at Charles. The Champion Elect was huddling down, hands over his face, disorientated and terrified. “Probably.” He looked… smaller, without all that irritating will puffing him up.

She fought a fleeting sense of satisfaction. She liked to see her enemies brought low, paying the price for their defiance. Shaw scowled. Emma flapped a hand at him. Really, Lord Shaw was agitating himself needlessly. Charles wasn’t important, not really.  
“Oh, calm down, my lord. It is not as if you liked him all that much.” The scowl grew.  
“I didn’t have to like him. I had a _use_ for him.” Shaw said, sounding clipped.  
“In any case, we have to put our heads together and think. ” She said, tilting her head.  
“Think?” he rasped.  
“How are we going to, ah, explain this, this, sad event to the Lady. Or to the Court?” She said, invitingly.

“Can you affect everyone’s mind at Court?” Shaw said, bitingly. “Make everyone believe whatever you tell them?”  
“You know I can’t, not consistently, or for very long.” Emma said, sullenly. That was why she’d had to accept his support in the first place, instead of simply enthroning herself and forcing everyone to accept it. There was silence for a moment, broken only by Charles’ unsteady breathing.  
“Run.” Shaw breathed at last. Emma blinked, confused.  
“What?” Surely, he couldn't mean-  
“You’ve assaulted the Champion-elect m’dear.” Shaw said, delightedly. “Visibly so, and using talents only _you_ possess.” Emma gaped at him.   
“Surely you cannot be suggesting-?” she began, incredulously. Shaw broke in on her, fiercely.  
“Run.” He snarled, and she flinched back from his hands as he grabbed at her. “You’ve broken him-“ They both glanced at the pitiful figure in the chair. “I needed him pliable, not broken- and you can’t hide what happened.” 

Emma began to pace. There had to be some way this could be managed, some way to fix this. And Sebastian would help her, if he knew what was good for him. Again, she cursed the fact that she could not influence him mentally.  
“How _dare_ you-“ Shaw slapped her. She didn’t have time to flash into her diamond self, and the noise of hand on flesh was loud. Charles whimpered. Emma felt a furious rage at the idea of him witnessing her being treated so insultingly.  
“I am a noble-“ Shaw sneered at that, and moved as if to slap her again. Emma moved back hastily.  
“I really don’t care." he said, sharply. "You’re no more use at Court to me now, so run, or die; it’s your choice.”  
“I will be _Queen_!” Emma said. Sure, surely, all her plans couldn’t fall apart _now_ , not after she had worked for so long. Not over one idiot ex slave.

 

Carefully, she began to plan again. The must be some approach that would work on Shaw.  
“That’s what you said, that I-" Sebastian Shaw laughed in her face.  
“You’re my favourite current game piece, m’dear, I must admit. But that’s all. You’re hardly the first queen I’ve lost. I can always make another.” He laughed again. “Go on. _RUN!_ ” The last word was shouted. Charles let out a tiny gasping cry of fear. Emma stared at them. “Or you can stay and accept the Court’s justice.” She shuddered. “No?” He smirked. “I thought not. Stop wasting time, pack your jewels and run.” He sighed. “Go on. I’ll cover for you a little while longer.”  
Emma ran for her jewel case in the next room. Sebastian Shaw looked after her for a moment, and smiled.

Then he turned back to Charles, who stared at him, wide eyed and bewildered.  
“Hello.” Sebastian crooned, softly. “I do hope you don’t intend to go talking about any of that, do you?” He ran his hand through Charles’ hair, gently. Charles shivered, under his touch. Sebastian liked that. He rather hoped he could keep Charles. He had potential, as a game piece, that Emma had never had. And he'd been Lensherrs', too, which made it sweeter.  
“Any… Any of what, sir?” Charles said, softly, dropping his eyes.  
“Anything you just saw.” Shaw said, smooth as silk. He grabbed Charles by the hair, and drew him up out of his seat. “I would hate to have to _discipline_ you.” He hissed. Charles swallowed.   
“No, sir.” He said, softly. 

Shaw smiled at him, approvingly, and released his hair. Charles swayed, uncertainly against him. Sebastian pushed him away. Charles stumbled down to his knees. The King’s Champion stared down at the Champion elect’s bent head and trembling fingers and grinned, briefly. A shame he’d lost Emma… but this one might be more fun, if he was careful.  
“Now. You said you don’t remember me. What _do_ you remember?” Charles blinked at him, vacantly. Sebastian buried a surge of impatient anger, and drew a deep breath. This couldn’t be rushed. Emma flitted past the door, carrying a bundle that looked to be heavy. She glared. Shaw bowed to her, one last time, and she was gone.  
“Do you know where you are?” Shaw persisted. Dumbly, Charles shook his head. “Do you know who you are?”  
“I… I’m a slave.” Charles said, slowly. “Am I… Am I your slave, sir?” Shaw felt a heated rush of excited triumph.  
“Perhaps.” He said, airily. “Do you remember your name?”  
“Charles, Master.” Charles said, numbly. “I’m called Charles.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles has amnesia and is unwell. Shaw tries to take advantage, but a ginger haird knight without armour appears.

Sebastian Shaw drew a deep breath,, and let go of his prey, temporarily. The other man made no attempt to escape or evade his piercing, stare.  
“Once again. You are my slave. You answer to me. You guard the heir while _I_ say so. You report to me, and only me. And, I repeat, this is a secret. Tell anyone, and you’ll be sold. Or killed.” Shaw said to the cowering man in the chair, who licked his lips and nodded, obediently.  
“Yes, Master.”  
“Don’t call me Master!” Shaw snapped. Charles flinched back, and Shaw ran a hand through his hair, irritated. This was taking too long.  
Out of the corner of his eye, Sebastian caught a shadow slipping past the door.

He took a single, careful step backwards, and smiled.  
“Ah. Sword Sean. Looking for the Lady’s Champion?” Shaw said, pleasantly. “He’s here. Do come in.” He supposed that the bare hour he’d been able use to force a few ideas on Charles Xavier would have to do, for now. He’d command the man to report to him privately, later; that looked set to be most enjoyable. For Sebastian, anyway. It didn’t matter what Charles felt; as long as he kept feeling he was a slave again.

Sebastian looked forwards to many enjoyable days; with Charles as his new spy in the Lady’s circle. This was much more direct a method than he would have chosen, but still, he felt almost grateful to Emma. He hoped she would manage to escape, at least for a little longer. Shaw felt there was very little risk in the situation, now. If Charles began to be troublesome again, or he grew tired of him; well, he could always petition the King to remove his daughter’s Champion, on the grounds of ill-health.

“Sir. Charles. ” Sean bowed, correctly, but his eyes were fixed on the pale and shaky ex-slave. He looked worried. Possibly suspicious. Sebastian bit back his temper and prepared to enage in a little light deception.  
“ _Don’t kneel!_ ” he hissed in an under voice, just in time to stop Charles sliding out of his chair and giving at the knees, and giving away quite what was wrong. The ex part of ex-slave was rather a moot point now; given that the Lady Emma had wiped his mind, or at least, his memory.  
“Terrible news.” Charles said, a little flatly, as Sean straightened. Charles glanced quickly at Shaw; Sebastian was gratified by the fear he saw there.

“What’s wrong, S- Charles? You look terrible.” Sean said, concerned. “You look sea sick again.”  
“I- a slight headache s- Sean.” Charles said. “I- that is, the Lady, the Lady E- e- e-  
“Lady Frost appears to have harmed the Lady of Genosha’s Champion with her mind Gift.” Shaw said, solemnly. Charles nodded, in corroboration  
“WHAT?” Now the dull trainee Sword reacted; even as the ex slave flinched, he was moving forwards, towards Charles. “Uh- how do you know all this?” Sean said, and barely glanced at the King’s Champion.. Sebastian did his best to look gravely concerned, as he took Charles’ pulse, which was thready and rapid.

“How do you think? Charles told me himself. She also appears to have fled the citadel, Before I got here. A pity.” Lord Shaw said, coldly. Charles twitched, as if to draw his arm away. Sebastian increased his grip and smiled at him, whitely. Very minutely, Charles shuddered. Sean put his hands on Charles’s tense shoulders. He stepped sideways, partially blocking Shaw from Charles’s eyeline.  
“Charles?” he said, very gently. “Talk to me man. How are you feeling?”  
“I-I’m sure I’ll be quite well very soon.” Charles said, staring wide eyed up at Sean. Sean looked at him for a long moment and then he straightened, turned to Shaw and said.  
“Sir, as King’s Champion, can you raise the hue-and-cry after her? I- I’ve not the rank.”

“Yes, of course. I shall lay the evidence before the King myself, as partial witness.” Sebastian said, firmly. He hid his feelings of delight; oh how he wished he could see it; the proud and elegant Lady Emma Frost, cousin to the King of Genosha, reduced to a hunted thing scrambling to escape and scraping to survive. Shaw was certain she would look beautiful, humbled. He licked his lips. Charles shivered, going greyer.  
“I- I think, I- sirs-“ he said, desperately, before leaning forwards, sliding out of the chair to vomit over the feet of the King’s Champion. Shaw dropped Charles’ arm and recoiled, before reacting instinctively to strike the kneeling man across the face.

Sean caught at his wrist. Had he succeeded in making contact, the junior Sword would not have managed to block Shaw; nothing could; he was the strongest, but Sean’s instinctive gesture recalled Sebastian to place and time. He stopped the blow before it could touch the cringing slave. _Later._ he promised himself silently. _Later, oh yes._  
“Sir.” Sean said, stiffly. “The hue and cry?”  
“Yes, of course.” He murmured, and stepped away from Charles, who did not move. Sean remained still.  
“Sean, are you- oh, hey, Champion. Champions.” Logan breezed in, apparently casually.  
“Logan, something’s wrong.” Sean said, frantically. “I- Sword Charles is unwell, and-“  
“And Lady Emma did it.” Shaw said, smoothly. “Didn’t she, Charles?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared.  
“That so?” he said, coolly. Still hunched into himself, on the floor, Charles shivered.  
“Yes, sir.” he said, miserably. “I- I don’t, I don’t remember. I- she was teaching me? But, but… I can’t _think._ ” Logan prowled in closer, almost shouldering Lord Shaw out of the way. He squatted and said to Charles, softly.  
“Don’t remember?” Charles gulped. Logan put a hand on his shoulder, and helped him sit, ignoring the vomit on his clothes and the floor.  
“I- Lord Shaw says this is Genosha.” He said, warily. Logan and Sean nodded. “The Palace in Genosha?” he said, half questioningly.

“That’s right bub, and you belong here.” Logan said, absently. He put a hand under Charles’s chin, lifting it towards the light. “Where does your head hurt?” Shaw sighed. This crude attempt at medical evaluation, from Logan, of all people, was laughable.  
“E-everywhere.” Charles quavered. “I’m sure I’ll be fine soon, sir, please, don’t- I’ll-“ Logan’s brow furrowed and Charles snapped his mouth shut, reflexively. Logan stilled.  
“Right, I got it from here.” He said, calmly. “Sean, go get the healer.”  
“Ah- but-“ Sean said, unwilling to leave Charles alone with the infamous Wolverine and Lord Shaw.

“Now!” Logan snapped, and Sean found his feet taking him towards Josh Foley’s chambers without prior consultation. He left the door wide open as he left, just in case.  
“Shaw.” Logan said, without looking at him. “You say Lady Frost did this? All by her lonesome?” His tone was insolent, almost mocking. Shaw frowned. Charles shut his eyes.  
“Do you doubt my word?” Sebastian said, curtly. Logan turned his head and looked at him, silently, for a long moment. His eyes glinted in amusement. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Sebastian fought to keep his teeth from grinding.  
“I got this.” Logan said, and put a protective hand on Charles’s shoulder as he stood, turning to face Shaw directly. 

“You going to go alert everyone an’ all that stuff? Like Sean said? Bub?” Sebastian sucked in a breath. Logan rarely came so near to open challenge. Now was not the time for a confrontation. Not now that Sword Sean was off running through the Palace, hopefully spreading rumours as he went for Foley. Not with Logan, one of the few genuine threats to Shaw’s grip on power here. Logan, who lived long, too. Logan, who was grinning at him now, stance altering subtly from mocking to battle-ready. Logan spread his hands, and smiled, challenge glittering from his gaze.

Yet, if he lost contact with Charles while he was still trembling and suggestible, he lost valuable opportunities to cement his version of reality in Charles’s mind. _Among other things._ The tension in the room snapped as Charles groaned, sickly.  
“I- Ma- I’m.” His shoulders hitched, and his face twitched in a familiar way. Sebastian lost patience. He’d tried to work with the man. At least he’d installed a few basic things. Let him vomit on Logan, then; he was sure he’d still be lying around later, for Sebastian to collect again at a more convenient time. When Emma broke her toys, she usually did so permanently.

Shaw grimaced a smile, turned on his heel, and strod e out. He did not run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, basically, I'm focusing on Token Alliance as my next WIP, as it hasn't been updated in so long. Enjoy all, and let me know if you love it, hate it, or want to edit it!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan gets Charles back to his rooms. Not that Charles remembers they're his, of course. Alex starts picking up the pieces

Charles did not understand what is happening. Or what has happened. The man Logan led him through a dizzying whirl of corridors, unerringly, too fast to be called a walk, yet not so fast as to seem rushed. Charles stumbled, but Logan- he will not let Charles call him Sir- did not strike him, merely gripping him, - not painfully- around the arm, and striding on.  
“You sure do get yourself into the worst company.” Logan said, calmly.   
“S-orry-“ Charles tried to get his faltering brain and tongue to work together. It prived hard.  
“An’ stop apologising!” Logan huffed. Charles’s tongue re-glued itself to the roof of his mouth.

They hurried into a set of fine rooms; clean and well decorated. There’s leather armour hanging on a stand, freshly burnished, and the bed is huge. _The slaves here must be worked very hard._ Charles thought. Then he frowned. This is Genosha, and there’s something he ought to know, to remember about slavery and Genosha. His head hurt.  
“Alex!” Logan snapped, and a new, fresh faced young man entered from the room beyond. Charles observed him out of the corner of his eye. He’s not a slave; Charles would bet his next set of bruises on it, and he’s also no soldier, not with that slouch. A servant, maybe? Whoever lived here much be rich and powerful, to have both a servant and a slave, here in the Palace.

“What’s wrong, Boss?” he asked, in swift concern. Charles blinked when he realised this Alex is apparently looking to him for the answer.  
“I- um, Lady Frost.” Is all he seems to need to say, before the other man instantly shifts into sympathy. He moves towards Charles, almost before he can flinch. Logan stepped to one side.  
“She give you another of your headaches?” Ales asked, deftly untangling Charles from his now rather soiled coat. “I’ll get Jean’s tisane brewing in just a breath.”  
“Um.” Charles said, wincing as he anticipated the cost of his clothing being taken out of his hide.  
“Bitch gave him amnesia.” Logan grunted. “ Then she ran. Shaw’s calling the hunt down on her.”

“She what?!” Alex stopped draping the embroidered coat carefully over a chair. He whirled to face Charles, staring at him somewhat wildly. Charles swallowed.  
“It’s true.” He said, humbly. Alex’s eyes narrowed.   
“What do you remember?” he said, sharply.  
“I- I’m from Westchester.” Charles said, slowly. “I-“ he lifted his hand to his neck, but his slave tags were still missing. Of course. He gulped. Desperately, he wondered what had become of his token.  
“You’re a citizen of Genosha, now.” Logan said, curtly. “Saw the ceremony myself.”  
“Oh.” Charles said, and frowned. _Genosha, again._

“Yeah.” Alex said, eagerly. “Arm.” Automatically, Charles put out his right arm. Alex gave a pleased hum, and set to work unlacing the cuff from the shirt sleeve. Logan grunted.  
“Haven’t forgotten everything, then?”  
“I don’t recognise anything.” Charles said, helplessly. Alex laid one cuff aside. Obediently, Charles held out his other arm. Alex began picking at it.  
“You can still speak Genoshan.” Loagan said, thoughtfully. “When did you learn?”  
“I- as a child, before, before-“ Charles went rigid. “Before my stepbrother sold- before I left home.”

Alex jerked back, as if startled, and Charles’s cuff tore with a loud ripping noise. Automatically, Charles tilted his head, tucking his chin down protectively. Logan drew a long breath in.  
“What’s the last thing you remember? Do you remember meeting me, bub?” Charles shook his head.  
“Before today? No, s- Logan.” He thought for a moment. “I – There was a death, in my- in the family. The son- his name was Graham- he was planning to sell off most of the, the estate.”  
“Including you. Sit down before you fall.” Logan said, none of it a question. Charles dropped into the seat, gratefully. Alex knelt at his feet. Charles stared at him.

“Boots?” Alex said, helpfully. Flushing Charles stuck out his leg. Alex wrestled with removing Charles’s boots. Charles tried not to shiver. This was all wrong. He was a slave; and yet Alex, a free man was serving him. Lord Shaw had told him, he belonged to him, and yet, these people seemed to know him well. Lord shaw had also promised him, if he spied well, he would be freed; but Alex behaved as if he was already free. Nothing made sense, and his head _hurt._  
“We met when Sean brought you in to get your tags cut off.” Logan said. Charles nodded. He knew Sean. But, wait-  
“Tags?” Charles said, bewildered. Surely they couldn’t mean-

“Genosha doesn’t have slavery.” Alex said, proudly. “You’re a Genoshan citizen, boss.” He grinned up at Charles, seemingly ignorant of the impossible lies he was telling.  
“Oh.” Charles said. “I- Lord Shaw said something, but I- it was hard to understand.”  
“Yeah, I bet.” Logan said. “I’m sure the healer’ll be able to fix you up just fine, bub.” He clapped a hand on Charles’s shoulder, and ignored Charles’s flinch.  
“I gotta go roust out the guard.” Logan said, slowly. “Lord Shaw’ll have his legal writs from the king, by now- I love a good hunt.” He grinned. “Anyone Sean won’t have passed a message to?” Alex shrugged.   
“Erik’s not back yet. Everyone else will know, soon as the King does. If you need to go- I’ll keep an eye on him.” Alex said. Charles blinked. Who was Erik? Keep an eye on who?

“You do that.” Logan rumbled. Charles realised both the other men were looking at him, and felt, if possible, even more stupid. Of course they would be watching him. A stranger, a foreign slave- a former slave?- hadn’t Logan said he’d seen his tags cut away?- nothing trustworthy about him, clearly. Logan grunted, again and turned to leave. He tipped Alex a lazy, mocking salute as he went. Alex put Charles’s second boot to one side, and stared at him, head on one side, for a long moment. Charles tried not to shuffle away.  
“You really don’t remember anything, huh?” Alex said wryly. “Not even, uh, Angel or Erik or Moira?”  
“No.” Charles said, rueful. “And… what I do know? It’s all disordered, I keep- time keeps drifting.” He said, and then cursed himself. 

What was _wrong_ with him? He was talking far too much, and far too honestly.  
“But; I’m sure I can still work,” Charles said, hastily. Alex’s jaw dropped. “I just, I…” He bit back the desperate plea not to be sold, not yet. Begging never worked, and in any case Lord Shaw seemed like the kind of master Charles least wanted to be owned by. Alex snapped his mouth closed.  
“Not anymore today, you’re not.” He said, after a short pause. “I’ll get you a change of clothes, and then the tisane, and you’re going to lie down and _rest_ , all right?”

“Yes, Alex.” Charles said, meekly. “Only-“ he stopped. “Where?” Both of them stared at him. “I, I mean, I can’t rest _here_ , can I?”  
“Why not?” Alex said, curiously.  
“Won’t the master, the lord who lives here, be angry?” Charles said, carefully. “Unless.”  
“Charles.” Alex said, “You live here.”   
“Oh.” Charles said. “Um, who do I serve?” He weakly hoped bed service wasn’t involved; on the one had his body didn’t ache too much as if he’d been badly used, on the other no one who had a bed that size expected to sleep alone in it.

“Charles. Boss man.” Alex said slowly. “What I meant was… you’re a Lord. Here. In Genosha. You’re Champion to the Lady of Genosha. These are your rooms.”  
“Oh.” Charles said, faintly. “I see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, two updates in one day. My lord.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex looks after Charles, Angel gives sean a good idea, and Shaw looks after himself.

Alex wanted to kill someone. Several some ones. His Boss-man had been hurt. The best, smartest, kindest boss in the world, who had never minded that his servant was kind of a screw up at most stuff, was a shaking heap who didn’t even think he was free, anymore. Alex wasn’t sure who he wanted to kill first, Lady Frost, who’d apparently messed with Sword Charles’s memory, or all the people who’d ever so much as looked at him, back in the days before he’d run into Erik and his gang and been gotten away from Westchester. He glanced over at where Charles was sitting, huddled guiltily on the chair, and gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

Charles gave him a timid smile, in response, and ducked his head, still clearly scared out of his mind. Alex had to fight down the need to curse, aloud.  
“How’s your head?” Alex tried to sound… nice. He didn’t think he’d succeeded, as veiled terror flashed across Charles’s face.  
“It’s just fine, s- Alex, really.”  
“Yeah, no.” Alex said, as he handed Charles the tisane, “You keep frowning and starting to rub your eyes.” Charles jerked his hand away from his head guiltily before taking the steaming cup.  
“Like that.” Alex said, and Charles… shivered, before inhaling the steam. 

Alex clamped down on his protective urges, again- Charles wasn’t Gabe, even if he was reminding Alex of times when his little brother was hurting and didn’t want to show it. Even if he was the reason Gabe was in school, now. Charles squared his shoulders and looked up at Alex.  
“I, I’m finding all this confusing.” He said, simply, and took a sip of the hot drink.  
“Can I help?” Alex said. “Uh, why don’t we go through to the other room; that’s where you sleep, you need to lie down.” Charles looked faintly startled as he stood.  
“I- can I ask, um,” he said, hesitantly.  
“I’ll tell you whatever I know.” Alex said, quickly. “Just remember, I’m kind of a screw up.” Charles looked horrified.

“I- who told you that? It- it wasn’t me, was it?” Alex shook his head and followed Charles. He walked through; and something in him seemed to falter as he looked at the neatly made bed with the fur rugs and the good blankets.  
“This is mine?” Charles said, quietly, staring at the turned down linen sheets.  
“The big room made you uncomfortable.” Alex said. “I offered to sleep on a pallet, like most servants, but you said I should use the bed, no one else would be.” Charles sat down on his bed with a thump. Alex bit his lip. He didn’t think telling Charles how he’d originally thought the Champion-elect’s role came with a vow of celibacy attached would be a good idea right now.  
“You wanted to ask me stuff?” Alex shifted, slightly, before sitting down, on the floor. Vaguely, he thought being physically below Charles’s eye line might be a good idea. Charles licked his lips and said:

“Right, yes, ah- How long have I been here?”  
“In Genosha?” Alex said, thoughtfully. “Don’t know; Erik and his bunch brought you back-“  
“Erik?” Charles said, sharply.  
“Sword Erik, Erik Lensherr.” Alex said. “He and all the others, they were doing some kind of, of, tour, or trade and they found you.” Charles’s lips parted, as if he was about to ask another question, before closing again.  
“You’ve been Champion-Elect for what is it, maybe a year, now?” Alex said, thinking. “You picked me out, uh, last summer, I guess, and I’ve been” he paused- “Taking care of stuff for you, since.”  
“I- I did?” Charles said. Alex smiled.  
“Sure did.”  
“Ah- you said I’m Champion-elect.” Charles said, carefully. “What does that entail, exactly?”  
“Well-“

 

 

 

“Come on!” Sean said, desperately. He didn’t know what to do; but Angel might be good for Charles. Maybe she’d remind him of things from before. Was that a good plan? Sean hoped so. With Moira locked in Council with Raven and the King, and Josh Foley away, he wasn’t sure what to do. One thing was certain, this attack on Charles had to be kept quiet until they knew what was what. News that one of the high ladies at court had apparently attacked the Champion-Elect would disrupt the court- and maybe more than just the court, badly. So Sean had known he had to keep his mouth shut. He’d taken Logan’s message to the guards, and looked for Foley, but that was all.

“Sean, stop pulling!” Angel snapped. “And tell me what’s wrong; you look like somebody’s _died_ ”  
“Erik said I was to keep an eye on Charles.” Sean muttered. “He finds out, I’m probably dead, so maybe.”  
“Sean!” Angel stopped, and swung round, putting her hands out to block Sean’s frantic pace. “Tell. Me. What’s. Wrong.” Sean looked left, looked right, and then blurted:  
“Lady Frost attacked Charles with her Gift.”   
“Charles is working on his telepathy with her.” Angel said, calmly. “Sean, man, you have to stop listening to-“  
“I _saw_ it.” Sean licked his lips. “The- afterwards.” Angel’s wings fluttered, nervously. She yanked Sean into the nearest doorway.

“Tell me everything; what you saw, heard, why you went for Foley, everything.”  
“Uh- Lord Shaw said to go get Foley.” Sean said. “And, and, I did. But he’s not there-”  
“You left Charles alone with Lord Shaw?” Angel fought down the temptation to slap Sean; it wouldn’t help matters any.  
“No!” Sean said. “M’ not stupid. Logan was there. He wouldn’t- wouldn’t help Shaw-”  
“Yeah.” Angel said. “So-“ she said, promptingly.  
Sean hastily explained what he’d seen.  
“And I didn’t know Foley’s away; there was a couple of cases of fever, he went to treat them and-“

“Quarantined, for a month, I remember.” Angel said, absently. “How is S- Charles?”  
“Awful.” Sean said, bluntly. “There was blood on his shirt- I think he had a nose bleed. He was shaking and, he threw up and he couldn’t understand where he was, stuff like that.” He licked his lips, and swallowed. “You- you remember when he first- when we met? Before Erik told him he could say no?”  
“Of course I do, Sean; he was watching us, all the time.” Angel said. “After; he was wary of everyone else, but he knew us.”  
“He’s like that, but worse.” Sean said, bluntly. “He- he was scared, then, a lot, but he was, I dunno, calmer about it. Resigned, maybe? And he wasn’t confused. Not like this. She really did something to him.”

“Come on.” Angel pulled him out of their hiding place.  
“What?” Sean said, hopefully. “What can we do now?” Angel threw him an exasperated glance.  
“If he needs a healer; and Josh isn’t here, we should send a message to someone else who can help him.”  
“Who?”  
“Madame Grey!” she snapped, over her shoulder, as she broke into a run.

 

 

 

Lord Sebastian Shaw was having a remarkably mixed morning. His major ally at court; his queen playing piece, had miss stepped, attacked the Champion-Elect in an unmistakable and undeniable fashion, and he’d had to take her off the playing board. As far as he could tell, Lady Frost has made it out of the Palace and city unchecked; not that he was surprised about that. He wouldn’t be surprised if a trail of people with amnesia or headaches turned up later, either, but still. That was one of the good parts of the day.

He could always put Emma back on the board, later. 

The attack had left the Champion-Elect malleable, confused and desperately frightened. Sebastian had had a reasonable amount of time to complete the work Emma had dragged her feet over, binding Charles to their interests rather than Lensherr’s little circle of fools. Xavier now thought Shaw was his master; and, given the training a lifetime of slavery gave, would no doubt be desperate to keep him happy. Shaw hoped it had taken; if not he could always force the man’s retirement on grounds of ill health, but a malleable toy was always more… useful than any discarded piece.

And the Champion-Elect- Charles- was not entirely unappealing. As a toy.

Logan inveigling himself into the situation- and that young fool, Sean, appearing on the scene, those were two definite flies in his ointment. Logan was no fool, even if his brutally simplistic nature meant he had never gathered the power or resources the only other immortal would have needed to be a major threat. Hopefully Sean’s mouth was even now spreading rumours of Charles’s illness and incapacity, rather than anything that might make things harder for Lord Shaw. A whispering campaign was just what he needed; to spread uncertainty and doubt through the court.

Until everyone came to see him, Sebastian Shaw, as the only supplier of genuine news and genuine protection in the Palace.

Sebastian reminded himself to check up on Foley’s reports over Darkholme’s decline in health. The King had been unwell too often, lately. Raven had had to take over a fair amount of his work. Shaw didn’t want to be tied down, dancing attendance on a dying man while the brat and her coterie took over as Princess Regent. If the king’s illness was like to carry him off, it was better that it did so quickly; quickly enough to shock and disrupt the Court, quickly enough that Sebastian could twist the situation to his full advantage. Lingering illnesses were so unpleasant.

Sebastian Shaw would do everything he could to make sure the King’s death was swift, when it came.

Now, he had to do as Logan had reminded him was in his power- raise the hue and cry, and set the wolves- the guards, anyway- after Emma. How delicious. He had hoped to be able to send Logan out at their head; given the man was seemingly as immune to telepathy as he was to basic manners or anything else the hairy fool considered harmful. But the man wasn’t a complete idiot, and had located some ancient rule that kept him at the centre of events, at the Palace. Probably that commoner bitch, Moira, had reminded him.

Shaw sighed, and put on his disturbed face, as he hurried, now he was in clear view, to the second-in-command of the Palace guard.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is begining to put a few things together. And the team that intends to put _him_ back together is begining to assemble.

Charles rubbed his eyes, tiredly. His head still hurt, but he was finding it easier to put thoughts together, now. Perhaps the tisane had done the trick. The bed was wonderfully comfortable. The smooth softness of the fine linen sheets and the heavy warmth of the coverings had beguiled him into sleeping during the day. Charles didn’t think he usually did that. The light from the glazed windows was a little dimmer, now. Afternoon was giving way to evening. A bolt or anxiety zipped through him. Why had Alex let him sleep so long? Wasn’t there work he was supposed to be doing? He did not want to be punished, but- Charles looked around, warily, but the blond boy had slipped out of the room sometime after he had fallen into a doze, head still swimming with the amount of information Alex had reeled off. 

Charles rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He tried to assemble his thoughts. It was tricky, trying to patch what he’d seen and what he’d been told into one informative whole. Charles knew he needed to find out more about the world, both about other people and also about himself. He decided to begin also by placing the few facts he was in possession of into an orderly foundation.  
“My name is Charles. I’m a Genoshan citizen. I’m Champion-elect.” He said, out loud. The words seemed familiar to his mouth; yet they didn’t make sense. How could he, an unskilled Westchester slave of no particular looks or value, have risen to such a high place? What was he doing here?

Something did not add up. Lord Shaw had told Charles he was a slave; that he was Shaw’s slave, and working for him. He’d told Charles the only way he would be freed was if Shaw decided to release him. Why would Charles have agreed- no, wait, Shaw was a master, someone who would never think to ask, only order. The important question was; why would _anyone_ decide to use a slave as a spy? Slaves couldn’t be trusted unless they were watched. Was someone watching him? Who? What sort of punishments did Shaw have, to use against him if he disobeyed? Charles shivered. Alex had told him he had arrived in this country with a man called Erik- Logan had also asked after an Erik- and that he had been freed by becoming a citizen of Genosha. The two stories could not _both_ be true. Could they? Had this Erik collected him from Westchester for Shaw? Yet why then tell Charles he was to spy on Erik and his circle of friends for Lord Shaw?

Had Shaw recruited him in Westchester? Had Alex misled him? Charles needed more _facts._ He rolled over, and sat up.  
“I need more information.” Charles said, aloud.  
“You need food, boss.” Alex said, from the door. Charles jumped.  
“I do?” He had drunk the tisane; and eaten a biscuit, and it wasn’t yet time for the evening meal. Alex rolled his eyes.  
“Yes, boss.” He said, gently. “You skipped lunch. _Again._ ” he added pointedly. “You’re still too skinny, you know.” Charles smiled, reluctantly. He glanced downwards.  
“I have fresh clothes for you here.” Alex said. “You want me to put them on the bed, or can I assist?”

“What do I usually do?”   
“Depends.” Alex said, briskly. “Sometimes you let me do my job, or bits of it, sometimes you prefer to dress yourself.”  
“And… you don’t mind?” Charles found that hard to believe. Alex grinned.  
“Hey, you’re the boss, boss.” While Charles was dealing with the spasm of disbelief this brought on, he continued, cheerfully. “You still pay me the same, whatever.”  
“I- Can you put them over there, please?” Charles said. He didn’t want anyone to _touch_ him, not if it was avoidable. Alex frowned, slightly, but he laid down the trousers and shirt and turned to leave, saying over his shoulder as he went  
“I’ll be through here.”

Alone again, Charles stared blankly at the pile of expensive clothing. Still nothing made sense. But Alex seemed, if not trustable, kind. Charles did not know if there was anyone he could trust, even himself. He swung his legs out of bed and pulled the trousers towards him. They were looser and more comfortable than the pair he’d been wearing earlier, and the shirt, although it was of very fine linen, was also cut more comfortably. And there were no ties on the sleeves to fasten lace cuffs to, which was better, too. Charles pulled on the trousers and shrugged himself into the shirt, buttoning it quickly. Savoury smells were drifting thought from the main room, and his stomach was rumbling.

Alex hummed to himself as he laid out the food on the table. Charles padded into the room, and Alex winced to see his bare feet on the stone flags. Cahrles hated having cold feet, usually.  
“Socks are in that chest.” He said, and Charles blinked at him. “For your feet?” Alex prodded.   
“Oh, right.” Charles murmured, and went on staring at the table of food. He seemed surprised by something about it. Alex wasn’t sure what. Alex pulled out a chair and looked at his boss until Charles sat down at the table. 

Alex poured out a glass of small beer, and handed it over. Then he waited, arms folded until Charles took an empty bowl and placed it in front of himself, carefully.  
“First course.” He announced, cheerfully. “Dar’s chicken soup.” He nudged the correct spoon, gently. Charles obediently started eating. His eyes went wide at the first taste. Alex smiled to himself. Dar’s gift with spices was a great as his actual Gift. Charles kept stealing little glances at Alex, as he ate, which might have been funny, or flirtatious, if Alex hadn’t seen how wary Charles seemed of him. He turned his back, and headed for the sock drawer. Behind him, unnoticed, Charles’s shoulders relaxed, a little.

Alex sorted through the socks until he came up with the warmest pair available. Charles looked chilled and pinched, and although Alex was pretty sure it wasn’t a physical cold, he couldn’t help trying to help the only way he could.  
“Sean said he would come by again; he had to go see Moira and Raven in council, before.” Alex said. Charles blinked.   
“I’ve met Sean.” He said, carefully.  
“He was part of Erik’s lot.” Alex said, simply. “You know, the guys I told you about?”  
“No, I meant since… since this.” Charles said, waving vaguely at himself. “He came in when Lord Shaw was talking to me.”

“Lord Shaw was there first?” Alex said, suspiciously.  
“He was there when I woke up.” Charles said, and went back to spooning up the last of his soup, quickly. Shaw’s threats still hovered over him, and he resolved to keep his own council as much as he could. Alex swung round, Charles’ socks clenched in one fist.  
“He didn’t… uh, hurt you or anything?” Alex said. “Only-“  
“No.” Charles said, a little too quickly. Alex’s eyes narrowed.  
“He’s not a nice guy, you know, sometimes.” Alex said, slowly. Charles kept his face blank. “I’ve heard rumours.” Alex added. “Some of the servants, we talk, you know.” Charles said nothing. 

Alex placed the socks next to Charles, and began dishing up the main course. Greens first- and plenty of them, Charles liked his vegetables, and then the pie.  
“It’s beef.” He said, watching as Charles eyed it. “Beef and onion. Put your socks on.” Charles snatched up the socks eagerly, and ducked below the table. The door to the hallway rattled. Alex moved to open it.  
“Angel? Where’s Sean?”  
“Coming. He has to talk Madame Grey past the guards.” Angel said. “Wheres-?” Alex pointed. The curve of Charles’ shoulder was just visible over the table as the man struggled with his socks.

“Sword Charles?” Angel said, tentatively. Charles stayed under the table. “Um, Charles?” There was a banging noise, and the table jerked as Charles tried to straighten too quickly and hit his head.  
“Ah, hello, I-“ he faltered, and began to stand up. Angel waved him down again. Charles put his hands together and sat up very straight, in front of the pie.  
“What about-“ Alex started to say at the same time. Angel glanced at him.  
“Lord Shaw is in with the Council and the King, and Moira and Raven can’t get away.”  
“Huh. I know where Sean is.” Alex said. “But what about-“  
“Logan is organising the hunt for the Frost witch and I’m right here.” Angel said, crisply.  
“I was going to ask about Erik.” Alex said. “You can eat your pie, if you want, Charles.”  
“Logan’s sent him an urgent summons; so I guess he’ll be here quickly, too.” Angels’ tone softened as she looked at Charles.   
“How’re you feeling, sir?” Charles’ eyes widened.  
“I- my head is much better.” He said, softly. Angel smiled.  
“Do you remember me?”  
“N-no?” Charles’ shoulders hunched as he watched Angel’s face fall.

“I met you back in Westchester.” Angel said. “Along with Erik and Moira and Sean.”  
“Ah- what was I doing, there, do you know, please ?” Charles said, carefully, and took another bite of his pie.  
“Working.” Angel said. “Like us. We were being traders, you were, uh- Sean took you as part of a debt trade.”  
“Oh.” Charles said. “I- I remember I’m a slave, but I don’t remember-“  
“You’re not a slave anymore, Charles.” Angel said, fiercely. “Just- not.” 

Charles looked puzzled. She dropped to sit at the table, and Alex followed her cue. He poured more small beer for both of them.   
“Are- are you sure?” Charles said, faintly. That made three people- Logan, Alex and Angel who had all told him he was a free citizen of Genosha.  
 _”Yes.”_ Angel and Alex said as one. Charles rocked back, faintly.  
“Did- Lady Frost try to make you think you were?” Angel said. Charles ducked his head, and looked at his plate.  
“No. No, she didn’t.” Hastily he started eating again, hoping to forestall their questions.

The door didn’t rattle this time, it simply banged itself open. One small form and two larger ones hurried in. Charles looked up. He recognised Sean, he didn’t recognise the lady. She was tall, and dressed quietly, but with considerable elegance. He wondered if she was the Moira person Angel had mentioned earlier. Maybe he could ask her why they’d taken him to Genosha. He was reasonably certain that had happened, now, whatever Lord Shaw said.He didn’t know who the little girl was.  
“Uncle Charles!” a young voice wailed, “They said you were sick!” 

Charles was being hugged, tightly by a ten year old girl in elbow-length gloves. He arms encircled her with no instructions from his mind. She sniffled.  
“I- I’m not sick.” He said, quickly, reassuringly, and rested his forehead against her hair. It felt familiar, and comforting. She pulled back, and held his face in both hands, studying him carefully. Her narrow-eyed scrutiny took some time.  
“You’re all pale and frowny.” She pronounced, finally. “I don’t like it.” She turned to the woman. “Mother, can you make him better?”  
“Quietly, Anne-Marie.” The tall, red haired woman sad. “Don’t put Charles off his food.”

“H-hello, Sean…” Charles said. Sean grinned at him, and held out a chair for the red head.  
 _-Hello, Charles-_ she said to him, silently, as she sat. Charles stared.  
“That was- did you-“ Her eyes danced, and she smiled, so warmly at Charles that he blinked. It felt as if the sun had come out.  
 _-I’m Jean, and I’m here to help you.-_ Still silently.  
 _-Somehow, I believe you.-_   
“That’s good to know.” Jean said, aloud. Sean and Alex frowned. Angel hid her smile.  
“What is?” Anne Marie said, from under Charles’s arm.  
“You’re still able to send and receive telepathically, Charles.”

“Oh.” Charles said, quietly.  
“Now.” Jean said. “Can you all tell me what is going on? The rumours have reached the city, and they’re all kinds of strange and impossible.”  
“I- I can’t remember anything.” Charles said, humbly. “Not since I was- not for a few years, I think.” Anne Marie gasped, and put her hands to her face.  
“Lord Shaw said it was Emma Frost.” Sean said.   
“Yes.” Charles said, softly, and stared down at his plate. “It was. She did.” Jean reached out, and tilted his head back up. “I-I don’t know why.” He said, apologetically.

“Well, then.” Jean said, a fiery determination burning in her eyes. “I guess we can find out.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean gets to work. The results are somewhat more than she was expecting; or even hoping for.
> 
> I apologise for the library metaphor, but, well, I am a librarian at heart (and at work)

“The city is full of wild rumours, as usual.” Jean said, lightly. “What do we know for certain?”  
“Well-“ Sean said, and then broke off, flushing, to look at Charles.   
“Charles, you don’t mind?” Jean said, softly. Mouth full, he shook his head. He didn’t mind. He needed to think. Charles watched the antics of the little group that had come running as soon as he’d been hurt. He did so discreetly, whilst he ate the rest of the food and the others filled Madame Jean in with all the information they had at their disposal. It seemed to take a lot of words, and hand gestures from Sean, along with Alex’s quiet comments and Angel’s steady questioning. 

Charles smiled down at Anne Marie, who was steadfastly refusing to stop hugging him. She smiled back.  
“Your gloves are very pretty.” He said, softly.   
“You don’t remember? You gave them to me.” She said. “They have buttons of _real_ pearl, see?” She held out one skinny arm and demonstrated the buttons.  
 _I like these people._ Charles thought, and was surprised at how easy and familiar it felt. He did like them; and, judging by their anxiety over his hurts, and care of him, they liked Charles, as well. More and more, he was certain that Lord Shaw had been lying. Charles was surprised at how fiercely glad that made him; to think that. 

Not because it meant he was a free man, with rank and title, but because it meant these people- and the missing, mystery Erik, and Moira, who he could not remember- were his friends. Really his friends; not his owners, not his targets, but people who he cared for as they cared for him; without fear or calculation. Charles blinked down at his empty plate, and hoped they didn’t notice his suddenly over-bright eyes.  
“So.” Jean said, softly. Charles looked up.  
“Yes, M- Jean?” he said, carefully.  
“We know Frost did not destroy your telepathy. May I try and see what she tried to do?” Charles swallowed. Her eyes were very gentle.

“I-“ he said, and stopped. “It won’t- make it worse, will it?”  
“Make it worse?” Angel said, eyes worried. “Make what worse?”  
“I- since she- I can’t think very well.” Charles said, finally. He could see by the careful way they didn’t look at each other that more than one of them had noticed. Not good.   
“No, Charles.” Jean said, gently. “I promise, I won’t make it worse. And-“  
“And we’re all staying right here.” Alex said, firmly. “So you won’t be alone, Charles.”  
“Right. We’re all here.” Angel said, echoing. “You- it’s not going to hurt him, is it?” Charles blinked.  
“I can’t guarantee that.” Jean said, regretfully. “Not until I know more about what she did and why.” Alex lifted away Charles’ plate, placing it on the sideboard with a pointed thump. The servant didn’t look at all happy.

“Please start now.” Charles said, swallowing. “I- Just start, before I have to think about it. Please?” Jean nodded.   
“Anne-Marie. Go sit by the door; try and make sure we’re not overheard or interrupted.” She said, calmly.   
“Don’t worry, Uncle Charles. She’s really good at making people better.” The little girl nodded, hugging Charles once more before slipping away.   
“Should I-“ Sean half rose, to accompany her.   
“If you wish; or you can remain here. Anne Marie is quite capable of alerting us if there’s need.” Jean said.

“And I do not mind the audience if my patient does not.” Sean sat back down. Jean smiled; and so did Charles. It really was amazing, to think these people were here, for him, would stick by him.   
_-We will.-_ Jean said to him.  
“What do you want me to do?” Charles said, though stiff lips.  
“Try to trust me.” Jean said. He twitched. Trust was hard. “I’m not asking you to trust me.” She said, more softly. “I’m only asking you to _try._

Charles closed his eyes, and nodded.

 

Jean lifted her hands and cupped Charles’s temples. Her hands were cool and soft. Charles waited. There was no sudden pain. Cautiously, Charles allowed himself to start breathing again. Sean and Angel and Alex were all utterly silent.  
 _-Charles.-_ Jean spoke inside his head. Her voice was warm and kind, layered with comfort.  
 _-Yes?-_  
 _May I look?-_ But under that comfort, there was something more, a steely fire that burnt bright and clear. Charles felt warmer just listening to her.  
“Please do.” Oops. That had been aloud. Charles bit his lip.He wasn’t able to conceal the sick wave of apprehension that rolled though him when he realised that. 

To respond verbally to a telepathic query felt like a… failure, and failure meant punishment.   
_-It’s alright.-_ Jean’s reassurance was quick, and more than verbal. Charles breathed again. He tried to trust her.  
Something was moving in his mind. A soft, feather-light fluttering, that touched without disturbing, enquired without hurting, and shed a healing relaxation in its path. _Jean._ Charles drew in an unsteady breath. His headache had vanished, somewhere. Jean kept moving through, turning her eye on more and more of Charles’s self.

It felt… strange. As if he held a library and she was drifting through, running her fingers over the spines of the books, noting the ordering and the titles but never taking one from the shelf to read.  
 _-So._ Jean said, finally. _-That bitch disordered your memories; but I think we can get most of them back.-_  
 _-Most of them?-_ Charles felt anxious and hopeful.  
 _-Sorry, Charles.-_ And Jean truly did sound regretful. _-I… I think she’s been doing this over a number of occasions. Some might be beyond recall.-_ He could tell she was not happy.  
 _\- I see. -_ Charles thought slowly.  
 _-Not yet. But you will.-_

And he did. 

There was a storm in the library that was Charles’s head, a quiet, orderly storm that raged between the shelves, slotting memory books onto different shelves, yanking away pamphlets someone had tried to insert in the wrong places. Charles felt himself start to sweat; it didn’t hurt, precisely, but it was not in any way a pleasant or comfortable experience. Somewhere, he was aware, he had gritted his teeth and seized hold of the table, in reaction to what she was doing to… with him. The whirlwind continued, yanking back dusty curtains of forgetfulness, revealing the vistas beyond the nailed shut windows. Charles looked out, wistfully.

 _-This is your head-_ the whirlwind said, mildly. _-I think you can open a window if you want.-_

Charles did want, very much, although he could not say why. He could barely see beyond the smudged diamond shaped panes, anyway. He struggled with the nails, fruitlessly, until the whirlwind showed him the pry bar propped in the corner. The first nail that came out was rust-blood red, and cut his hands. Charles ignored the pain, and kept on prying and forcing until, on by one, every nail had yielded. His head was aching fiercely, but he didn’t stop. He had decided he wanted the windows open; so open they were damn well going to be. The window frame screeched like a soul in pain as he and the whirlwind forced it open; but the breath of living air beyond was worth it. 

Eagerly, Charles stuck his head out as soon as the gap at the bottom was wide enough. He reeled backwards, blinded by the light beyond the glass. The sun was bright; bright enough to stun and dazzle. This was amazing. Why had no one told him the whole Palace was inside his head?  
 _-Charles. Don’t go to far!-_ Jean said, urgently.  
Charles gazed into the light, fascinated. The library was behind him, safe enough now, but what was in front was far more interesting.  
 _-CHARLES!-_  
Here was Dar, the cook, thinking about spices for sick people. Here were the Council members, drinking wine and- that was Shaw! Charles fled back inside, and tucked himself behind his shelves, safely. The windows slid shut of their own accord, but now the glass was clean and clear as water.

 _-Charles? Can you open your eyes for me?-_ Jean’s voice sounded a little tentative.

“Yes, of course, Jean.” Charles said, and did so. He smiled, warmly, at the tense faces revealed.  
“Uh- boss man?” Alex faltered, after a pause.  
“Yes, Alex?” Charles said, cheerily. Jean was grinning, now, openly grinning.  
“Are you- do you-“ Angel looked from one grinning telepath to the other, warily.  
“Remember what Frost wanted me to forget? I should rather say so. And quite a bit more she never knew.” Charles said, brightly. His eyes glinted. “And- Thank you, Alex. Thank you, all of you.”  
“For what?” Sean said. “Madame Grey did all the work.”

“Actually, Charles did most of it.” Jean said. I just showed him the way.”  
“Oh, I think the housekeeping you did up here-“ He tapped his knuckles on his skull “-was more than that.” Charles said, and smiled again. A ripple of relief ran around the table.  
“Thank you for helping me; looking after me so well.” Charles said, sincerely. “I- well, we know what my memories mean to me now, but-“ he broke off, and smiled again.   
“You were so scared.” Alex said, to the table. Charles leant over, and patted his hand.  
“I was confused. And in pain. But it will be alright now.” Alex looked at him, wondering. “I promise.”

“You seem, uh, kinda different, Charles.” Sean said, mildly.  
“That is partly because _Someone’s_ been playing with his head and his personality for the last few months.” Jean said, and her eyes were angry.   
“What’s- something really has changed.” Sean said, slowly. Charles smiled at him, the boy whose simple natural kindness had meant he was unable to ignore a man simply because he was a slave.  
“I- I seem to have a stronger grasp of my telepathy now.” He said, happily. “I think that was something else Frost was trying to prevent.”

“What didn’t that bitch do?” Angel snapped. “And how do we stop her?”  
“Ah- Lady Frost assaulted Charles, telepathically. She increased his distrust of friends, wiped his memories, drained his confidence and tried to get him under her complete control.” Jean said, blandly. All of the people round the table recoiled.  
“Thanks to you- and Jean, here- she failed.” Charles said, quietly. He could feel their care and concern, all of them, wrapping around him like a shawl. He felt charmed, and protected.

“But, but, why?” Sean said. Charles stiffened.  
“This is not to leave this room, you understand?” They all nodded.   
“She was acting on Shaw’s order’s” He said, simply.  
“Well, shit.” Alex said. Charles laughed.  
“Well put, Alex.” Alex flushed. “Now.” Charles leant forwards, gathering them all in by eye. “Erik will be back soon.” He repressed his feelings; he _had_ to see Erik again, soon. He had so much to explain, to apologise for. But now wasn’t the time. “And we need to start planning for what happens next.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom! There goes Emma's influencing of Charles' personality!
> 
>  
> 
> convenient telepathy restoration is convenient.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik rides, and frets, until a distraction appears he was not looking for. 
> 
>  
> 
> hehehehehehehe

Erik regarded the air between the tips of his horse’s ears and repressed a sigh. He was not proceeding about his duties to Shaw’s farmers very fast. This was in part because his horse had started to develop an odd kick to his gait that was starting to worry Erik; but only in part. He had no great desire to be speeding away from the Palace. _From Charles._ he admitted to himself at last, ruefully. Although of late things had become strained between them, the other Sword’s conversation was always more interesting than most of the Court’s, and be played chess better, too. The rain picked up a little, and Erik muffled a curse. His destination- Shaw’s lands- were another day’s ride away, given the speed he’d been going at. A day’s ride in the wet.

The trees were restless under the breeze, and rain was trickling down Erik’s neck. The road was already muddy, and the weather would only make the going slower. Erik’s cloak kept his body dry, but his legs were already damp. Erik was briefly glad he had decided to wear light armour- the boiled leather jack was heavy but it was also warm, and it cut down on the wind chill. He squinted at the sullen grey sky and sighed. This was not a swift cloudburst; alas. The weather seemed very settled, in. The rain and wind were likely to continue at least past nightfall. He had been planning to camp out, but the rain made that an unwelcome prospect.

Putting up for the night at some small village hostelry wasn’t much better. They tended towards dirt and overcharging. _Rain or fleas?_ Erik mused, thoughtfully. the horse snorted and shook his head. _Fleas it is then._ Erik decided, finally. He nudged with his heels, and the horse moved a little faster. The horse had no name; or rather Erik refused to bother remembering it. It was a horse; it had no need of a name- although he was pretty sure the stable hands had a name for it or two, given its sometime evil disposition. Horses were tools, living equipment, that Erik found useful, but he didn’t name them. They performed a function; transport, or battle, but they weren’t people. 

And that, as most of his musings seemed to, these days, brought Erik’s mind back to Charles. Some people would have said the same about slaves as about horses; that they performed a function, but were not to be treated as people. And looking at Charles, both for the first time, kneeling at his feet, and the last, embracing him in vague farewel this morning, Erik could see the damage that living under slavery had done to Charles. Damage he had been arrogant enough to think they all could somehow ignore. He had not been treated well, or kindly, and the life of a slave not born and raised in slavery had peculiar difficulties. Erik had seen some of the legacy, and guessed at more.

There was the beautiful, self-controlled mask, of course; all feelings and thoughts buried under a smoothly deceptive placidity. Erik saw that most when Charles was sitting in the Council, and, recognising it from the trip through Westchester, he hated it. There was his fear of closeness, the revulsion Charles seemed to feel towards being watched or touched, that led him to avoid the bathhouse as if it carried plague. And there was his difficulty with giving orders. Erik had seen it, even before he had recognised it, in Charles’s interactions with his servant.

Charles was afraid of power; of authority. Of the harm that it could do, misused. That Erik new well, and understood, a little. Yet Charles was also afraid of it in himself, as much as in anyone. And Raven and Erik had thrust him into high rank and duty, thinking of it as a reward. Charles had never faltered, but- as he had said- it had been hard, and Erik had ignored that, asking more and more of them both. Erik frowned. He wasn’t quite sure why Charles had blamed him alone for that; some of it had been Raven’s idea. 

It had never, until their last argument, occurred to Erik to think that perhaps the problem might have been him. Still, he thought, with an inward lurch of horror; perhaps Charles had never seen him as more than a master, dictating what Charles could or should do, controlling him even as he set him free. Erik swallowed sudden nausea. If that was so- if Charles felt unable to refuse Erik- what did that make Erik? Even if they had never made it as far as sharing a bed; if Charles had felt it was within Erik’s right, or power, to request… that of Charles, then small wonder their attempts at kisses and touching had led nowhere, leaving Charles cold, and shaking and afraid. _Small wonder indeed._

Erik reined the horse to a stop and bent over, trying to control his sickness and sudden self-disgust. No wonder Charles had taken to visiting Madame Grey so much. At least in the House of Pleasure- Wait. Charles had not liked his first visit; when he’d been tricked by Sean and Alex. He, Erik had been furious when he’d found out what the boys had done, knowing the fears Charles had had as a slave that he would be forced to perform bed-service. He’d tried to fire Alex. Had been prepared to hurt Sean severely. _And Charles had told him no._ Erik dragged in a grateful breath of rainy air at the realisation.

Charles had stood up to his former owner, and told him that he, Charles, was handling this situation his way. Charles could say no. Charles managed his duties for Raven- which involved graceful refusals and quite a lot of just saying no- without collapsing or giving in when he shouldn’t. Charles could refuse Erik. Erik clung to that thought, and hoped, fervently, that he was right about that. Because if not, if not… Erik might just have ruined something he had no right to dream of touching.

He kneed the horse back into movement. He still had his duty, as a sworn Sword of the Lady of Genosha. Whatever else happened, between him and the man he- between himself and Charles, his vow to Raven laid duties on him that had to come first. However much he wanted to turn his horses’ head and beg Charles for forgiveness and understanding, he had duties. His duty was to sweet talk some angry farmers, right now. Hopefully that would not take more than a few days. Erik cursed Lord Sebastian Shaw again, by root and branch, by family and land.

 _-Oh sugar.-_ A cold ice-sweet voice sliced its way into Erik’s brain. _-Believe you me, I hate him more than you could ever dream of doing-_ The laughter that followed was silvery-sweet and more than a little crazed. At the wave of laughter, Erik jerked round, sharply, but he could see no one.

A bolt of startling, paralysing pain raced through Erik. He let out a choked, garbled noise and his voice seized up. The sky turned dark and he reeled, mentally. Slowly, unable to move a finger to help himself, Erik slid off the horse and fell into the mud of the roadway. The impact shocked the breath out of him. He could not move. He was lying in the mud, staring at the roadbed, and he could not move. He could barely even blink the rain out of his eyes. Erik choked back the rising panic. 

Was he suddenly subject to the falling sickness? Had he had a seizure? He was fuzzily aware of a horse approaching. He could hear the metal parts of its tack sing as the hoofbeats got louder.  
 _-Enough of that, my boy-_  
And the metal vanished from his world. Erik let out a choking moan of rage and fear. The hoofbeats stopped. Erik heard the rider approach, and he redoubled his struggles with his suddenly un-co-operative body. He needed to get up. To defend himself. 

A slender boot hooked itself under his shoulder, and rolled him over, not gently. Erik gazed up into the face of Emma Frost. He face was as beautiful as ever, but her eyes were crazed. His jaw dropped. He was cold. The world had turned cold, empty of metal so suddenly and now here she was, without explanation, without reason. Nothing was making sense.  
“What- you- here?” he managed to slur.  
 _-Erik Lensherr.-_ Emma said. Her lips did not move. _-I have a task for you.-_  
“N-not – your-“ he managed to get out, and then the power of speech deserted him like his metal sense and his control over his own body.

Unmerciful darkness rose up and swallowed him whole.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven checks up on rumours of her Champion-elect's illness. The cliffhanger remains so, because the author feeds on the spirits of her readers.

“You really are alright, now?” Raven said, gently. “I mean, Moira said-“ The view from the Palace roof was spectacular. It was also hard to be overheard there. It was the perfect place for an arm in arm stroll with her Champion-elect. Even if he was ill, the walking was not exactly demanding. Charles smiled down at her, more open than she had ever seen him. The wind from the battlements whipped his hair into improbable curls. His eyes were sparkling as he answered her.   
“Oh, I’m getting there, my Lady.” Gently, she thumped him on the arm.  
“We said no titles.” Charles grinned at her.   
“I believe you said that, Actually. My Lady.” He grinned, again. Princesses did not roll their eyes, but it was a near thing.

 

Charles coughed, carefully. “Lady Frost disturbed far more than she managed to add, or erase. Madame Grey- Jean- was very helpful; in fixing the damage. And…”  
“And?” Raven pressed, eager for good news.  
“Well, I think we achieved what Healer Foley was trying to do, also.” Charles glanced about; in case of eavesdroppers.  
“You mean?”   
“I- my telepathy. We unlocked it. All of it.” Charles said, so quietly, Raven almost did not hear  
“Charles, that’s brilliant news! No wonder…” she trailed off.  
“No wonder, what?” Charles prompted her. She flushed.

“Can’t you pick it out of my head?”   
“Not without permission.” He said, levelly. “I do need to learn more control; Jean’s helped me as much as she can.” Raven looked away as a hurt look crossed Charles’ face.  
“No wonder what, my Lady?” he prompted, carefully.  
“I – you seem so much brighter.” Raven said. “More centred.”  
“I- that’s not the telepathy, mostly.” Charles said, softly looking at the cloudless morning sky. “That’s- for the past few months, Emma was working in my head, working against me, against you- she made me, made me think-“ He broke off, and shivered.

“What?” Raven said, fiercely. “What did she do?”  
“That, uh, I couldn’t trust people. Couldn’t trust myself. Only her. I was- I think this is the first time in months I could be said to be truly myself.” Charles said. Raven felt a slow wave of anger beginning to burn in her. She welcomed the fire; the righteous rage.  
“I- “ she began. Charles overrode her, musing to himself.  
“Of course it might also be the telepathy; it’s very interesting how that can affect how I perceive others and how they perceive me. It’s an area for research; I mean if-“  
“Charles.” Raven said, patiently.

“Sorry, my Lady.” He smiled at her again, and Raven was struck by how very much bluer his eyes appeared in the bright daylight. “I- I can feel how people feel.”  
“How people feel? You mean- About you?” He nodded. Raven tried not to smile too much.  
“And other things; but- “ Charles went pink. “Everyone- Almost everyone- regards me very positively; it’s odd. Odd, but reassuring.” He looked away again.   
“Almost everyone?” Raven said, quickly. “Who-?”  
 _-Lord Sebastian Shaw-_.” Charles said, silently. Raven stumbled, in surprise, and Charles caught at her elbow.

“Well, I don’t like him, either.” Raven said. Charles shook his head, minutely.  
 _-He was behind Emma’s behaviour She planned on becoming Queen.-_  
“WHAT?” The shout echoed off the stone walls. “I’ll have them both exiled. No, executed. No, eviscerated.” Raven snapped, marching ahead of Charles in tiny, angry steps. Charles ran after her, and caught at her arm.  
“My Lady, please! Please, don’t be angry!” In a softer voice he added. “Get a grip on yourself, Raven. Please.” She glared at him, but Charles didn’t flinch. “He doesn’t know we know yet.”

Raven stopped stamping down the walk, and made herself _think_  
“We have to keep him ignorant of that until we can lay this whole mess before the King my Father.” She said, quietly. She wished, briefly, that Genosha was a different kind of Kingdom, that her father was the kind of King who could simply imprison or execute someone on her word alone, but it was not so, and really, most of the time Raven knew that they were a stronger nation for it.  
“Yes.” Charles said. “He did raise the hue and cry after her, but-“  
“But it’s still your word against his AND hers.” Raven bit her lip. That was not a good thing.  
“Madame Grey is willing to testify but….” Charles trailed off, uncertain and embarrassed. Raven noted it, and wondered.  
“The Council won’t like having to rely on the testimony of three different telepaths, two high born, and as for accusing the King’s Champion as well…” she said. 

Charles nodded, ruefully.  
“There’s already a lot of rumours floating through the halls.” He said. “Some of them are extremely… well, I think someone needs some basic biology lessons, really.” There was no way any man could get pregnant, for a start. And no way, if he’d been a woman, he’d have been able to conceal it, in his past life, and no need once they were safely in Genosha. Clearly, that hadn’t stopped the wild imaginations of some of the more foolish courtiers. Alex’s comments on what he’d over heard he betters had been saying had been… memorable.

“Good.” Raven said. Charles blinked, startled. She grinned, fiercely.  
“The more rumours the better. Let him have to sort through them for the real truth.”  
“We could ask Sean and Alex to spread more rumours.” Charles mused. “Wilder ones.”  
“I imagine Madame Grey knows the right ears to whisper into, as well.” Raven said.   
“Um.” Charles said, still a little uncertain as to the status- or lack thereof- of Jean’s trade.  
“Moira, too.” Raven said. “Come, on, Charles, we’re all Genoshans- nobody thinks anything of it.”

“It?” Charles said, faintly. He appeared to be going scarlet. Raven wanted to smile, but it wouldn’t be fair. Charles was still so reserved about some things..  
“Visiting a House of Pleasure.” Raven said, simply. “I- no one wants to make being a Sword impossible-“ She kindly didn’t mention his misunderstanding about Swords and celibacy. It had been funny then, but since then- Emma had been in his head; she could have left a lot of confusion behind.  
“Oh!” Charles said, flushing again. “No, no, it’s not- we’re just friends. I don’t-”  
“Oh.” Raven blushed. “I’m sorry, I thought-“ Charles looked at her, for a moment.

“When I was- before Erik and his team found me- well. Some of it was- it hurt. Me.” He paused. “And when you freed me, I couldn’t, I can’t- Jean’s a telepath as well as- what she does; so she- She helped. Helps.” He studied the flagstones beneath their feet; Raven stared at the top of his head and wondered what she was supposed to say about that. Erik had warned her, Moira had warned her, that Charles carried scars from his past as a slave, but foolishly, she had thought being free, being Champion-Elect had taken care of most of the invisible ones. Suddenly, she realised how childish an assumption that must be.  
“Charles, you don’t have to tell me any of this.” Raven said, “I- I’m trying to be a friend, as well as your, your-“ She faltered. What was she to him, really?

“You hold my oath. You are the Lady of Genosha and I am your sworn and loyal Sword. Now, and for my lifetime.” Charles said, softly, but rock solidly certain. “And you are my friend, Raven. You always were; from the first time we met.” He slipped something out of the pocket of his richly embroidered coat and showed her, before dropping it back. Raven recognised the Darkholme crest she had given him as a token, so long ago. Their eyes met. Raven looked away first. Quietly, Charles rested his free hand on the arm she had tucked through his. He pressed it lightly. She smiled at the horizon.

“Shaw.” Raven said, after a pause. “What do we- I wish Erik were here!” She missed her lean and tigerish Sword’s reassuring and sarcastic presence.   
“He’ll be on his way back to us by now.” Charles smiled. “Sean sent a King’s messenger after him; he said.” Raven decided not to ask. She had already miss stepped over Jean, she didn’t want to do so again with Erik Lensherr. “Shaw? Well.” Charles said. “I don’t think he ever thought much of me. Now, of course- now he thinks- he thinks I’m weakened. Vulnerable.” Raven’s face tightened, in anger. “So he might well underestimate me.” Charles’ smile grew edged.  
“Us.” Raven said. “He’ll underestimate us, and he’ll _never see it coming_.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw is not a nice person, you know. But he has things to do. Tiny cameo.

Lord Sebastian Shaw drew in a breath of the fine weather and smiled at his two walking companions. It was a good idea he’d had, to take the air in the Palace grounds. One met so many of the right people, also taking the air, and the wide open spaces meant a substantially reduced risk of eavesdroppers. His new campaign to get the Champion-elect ousted from his role on grounds of health benefitted, as other plans had in the past, immensely from the good weather.  
“Excellent.” He said, bowing in greeting. “I am so glad, Lord Wisdom, that you were willing to meet-“

“’m not willing to meet you.” Lord Wisdom said, bluntly. “I’m walking with my lady Katherine here, and you happen to be here as well. Don’t make this into more.” His smile was thin. “What do you want?” Shaw mentally marked Lord Peter Wisdom down as “Still difficult” and continued with his speech.  
“I- I have grave concerns.” Sebastian said, and tried to look gravely concerned.  
“Don’t’ we all.” Wisdom growled. Lady Katherine looked politely interested.  
“Concerns for the health of-“  
“Is the King so sick?” Lady Katherine said, startled. “I had thought-“ Sebastian swung his head to stare at her. 

“Not the King, my lady, his health appears to be improving.” He said, slowly and reassuringly. Lady Katherine flushed. Women were mostly flighty creatures, at court. Few of them were suited to wielding power directly, and fewer still were capable of exerting influence- their real role, in his mind- gracefully. Shaw bit back a sigh for his lost Emma, who had been sweet, cold, elegant and sharp, a rare jewel of a woman. Still, Katherine was, like her companion, Gifted, and so Sebastian had never denied her the little courtesies court women usually expected. Fortunately enough.  
“I speak of the Lady’s Champion-Elect.” Shaw said, turning back to business, and Lord Wisdom. “I hear he is still very unwell.”

“Has he not shown any sign of recovering his memory yet?” Lord Wisdom said, concerned. Shaw shook his head, slowly and with regret.  
“If that were all….” He said, significantly, and trailed off. In truth, he had not seen much of Charles since the attack. The circle of Swords had closed around their wounded mascot in defiant defence, and Shaw had not yet been able to get Charles alone and take what he wanted from the mentally crippled ex-slave, but then, Sebastian thought, darkly amused, he knew how his Emma liked to play. It was unlikely Charles would recover sufficiently to be a genuine threat.

Really, Shaw thought, as he exerted himself to convince Lady Pryde and Lord Wisdom of Charles’s weakness, he never had been. He certainly wouldn’t be as pleasant company as his White Queen had been; and now, he was starting to regret, just slightly, the impulse that had made him seize upon the Champion-elect as his next toy; rather than backing up Emma and smoothing over any difficulties her unprovoked attack upon Charles might have caused her. Charles, blinking up at him from that chair helpless, confused and lost had been so very, very tempting.

Sebastian had made a mistake, he knew now. He had let the trained hunting hawk already on his jesses go in order to seize a bird that could not, or would not, in fact, fly for him. Emma had been lovely; imaginative in her cruelties and breathtakingly elegant in her ruthless determination to be Queen. Shaw had not seen a character like hers in the last few centuries, and he had enjoyed watching her develop and blossom into the lethal predator she now was. And watching Genosha fall apart under her diamond fist had promised to be diverting. Until she had taken a step too far, and supporting her had looked likely to require rather more exertion and risk than Lord Sebastian Shaw cared to commit to providing.

That had been when he had assumed Charles was not only disabled, but ripe for the plucking and use by any interested party. But the others in the sad little group of his “enemies” had seized upon Charles first. A pity. Sebastian was not about to leave such a tool to other; if he could not have it, it would be destroyed. So now, he had to remove Charles from his position. This would not have been easy at the best of times, but now, with the King’s health declining, his daughter’s star was naturally rising, as the sensible Court members turned from where the power currently lay to where the power would lie in future times.

To make matters worse, the romantic little fool was fiercely loyal, refusing to hear anything about retiring her champion elect; even though the man had lost his mind and his memory both. Were it not for the fact that Sebastian was unable to exert full or sole control over Charles, he’d have been perfect, as it was… Shaw shook his head, and then recalled his current task. He sent Wisdom and Pryde back to their stroll, hopefully with heads full of doubts and concerns over the presence of Charles Xavier in the Genoshan court. He sighed, and was about to turn back to his rooms, when he caught sight of another happy couple and small child strolling across the well tended green.

 

What was Logan doing with a common harlot- wait, he knew what Logan would be doing with a common harlot, but what was he doing with her and some brat in the Palace grounds? It was _vital_ no telepath not under Shaw’s control got close to Charles Xavier; Shaw could not risk him recovering or giving up information Sebastian had told him to keep secret. He frowned, and set off to intercept and disrupt.   
“Logan.” He said, curtly, in greeting. “Madam.” He tilted his head to a degree just short of insulting, and let that stand. He didn’t bother with acknowledging what was likely some whore’s get.

Lord Sebastian Shaw was not going to waste his time with foolish displays of court manners towards a jumped-up little whoremonger and her brat. They doubtless wouldn’t even recognise them if he did.  
“Lord Shaw.” Jean Grey said, calmly. “How goes the day?” The girl stared at him. Shaw winked at her, and she dropped back a step.  
“Well enough.” He said, still curtly. Logan snorted.  
“Glad it’s going well for _someone._  
Shaw pretended not to hear him. Madame Grey gave him a steady, searching look.  
“I wonder at your choice of, ah companions, Logan.” Shaw said, not looking away from her.

“How so, bub?” Logan said, quietly. She did not blush or bridle; Sebastian raised an eyebrow at her.   
“Is it really wise to bring a telepath onto Palace grounds at this point in time? Or a child?” Shaw said, smoothly. Madame Grey raised both her eyebrows and stared back at Shaw. He hoped he was trying to read his mind, he really did. Soon enough he could- Logan was laughing.  
“Lady has a name, Shaw.” He said, jovially, taking hld of the little girl’s hand. “And no telepath can read what’s in here-“ he gave his bristling head a sharp tap with his knuckles- “Any more than they can read what goes on in _your_ skull.”

“Is that what she told you?” Shaw said, sweetly, and with an artful hint of worry. Logan grinned ferally and leant in close. Jean narrowed her eyes further. So did her girl.  
“Your dear sweet little Emma did, back when you’d just got your claws in her.” Logan growled, softly. Shaw blinked. “And I’d worry more about her than Madame Grey here.”  
“Please. I’m not interested in causing trouble for some procureress or other.” Sebastian said, idly, flicking his fingers. “Just, given the present mood of the court-“  
“ The Court is no more troubled than it has been since the start of the King’s decline in health.” Jean said.   
“I suppose, with your customers-“ Shaw tried a sneer.

“My guests are almost as discreet as my House is.” Jean smiled, and took her daughter’s other hand, Shaw’s scorn bouncing off her. “I select them very carefully, for that very reason.” Logan laughed, coarsely, again. Shaw blinked. So she did know her staff had refused him entry. Known and approved. He’d have to deal with that impudence later. Perhaps after the King was dead; he could persuade the court into a new moral mood; it had taken so well the time he had tried it in Westchester that they still disapproved of the trade in human pleasure; to the point where only the powerless or desperate or those with no other option could be found working in it. 

Meanwhile, there was work to be done. He nodded to them, ignoring the silent child’s steady stare which she would sure need to work on before she was able to attract any customers, and turned on his heel. Once the idiot boy-hero Lensherr got back from tidying up for him, Sebastian would make another move, removing Charles from the board. Lensherr was needed; for if in removing Charles he hurt Erik- again- that was two birds with one stone. Also, without his steel in their spines, Sebastian doubted Erik’s group would stand up to him sufficiently for the confrontation to be brought before the King and made binding.

Sebastian had already selected the list of healing houses that would hold the former Champion-elect for him, “for his own good.” It was a risk, keeping the man around after retiring him, but Sebastian felt he deserved a little treat now and then. If he was successful, Charles would be deemed incapable of his duties, and sent to be cared for, somewhere that Shaw could access and Charles’s allies could not. After the court settled down, Sebastian thought he might well enjoy a holiday there. More than one, if he was lucky. That would be worth the effort getting the Champion-elect sent to a place in Sebastian’s power.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *squints*
> 
> You see that Charles You Will Be A BAMF tag? 
> 
> This chapter's one of the reasons why.
> 
> *flees*

Erik opened his eyes and wished he had not. His body _hurt._ As one of the sworn Swords of Genosha, he was used to pain; but not like this. Not like this; bound and helpless in the dark, his body numb and aching, shivering with nausea and terror-  
“All right, I can feel you in my head, you’ve made your point.” He said, hoarsely. He felt cold, and his wrists hurt.   
_-Sweetie, I’ve barely_ begun.- His tormentor’s silvery laugh scraped across the inside of his head. Erik didn’t bother to repress his shudder; she’d see it anyway.

She was Lady Emma Frost, the only known noble telepath, and she had snatched him from his duties- one day ago? Two? Erik was no longer quite certain when he had fallen from his horse; when you were locked into your own head and body so tightly you could no longer see the passage of light, tied like a cat in a sack, struggling, choking, hopeless-  
“I can still tell when it’s you doing the thinking, Emma.” Erik said, and was faintly pleased to note that his voice wasn’t shaking.

- _Why are you still struggling?-_ She was growing petulant again. His heart sank. _\- I need you!-_  
“I am sworn Sword to the Lady of Genosha. To the end of my life.” Erik said, steadily, into the darkness. He had accepted, perhaps the second or third time that Emma had brought her mind down on him that he was likely to die here, trapped inside his head. Emma wanted more than his death; she wanted his life, his body and brain and loyalty all sworn to her use. She wasn’t going to get them without a fight, Erik had decided, and he tried not to hope that the strain of resisting would kill him sooner rather than later.

 _-You will break, you know. Everybody does. Your precious Charles did.-_ Erik shook his head.  
“Lies.” She was gloating. And lying. Erik clung to that hope. Charles was fine. He was safe, back at the Palace. Erik had seen him to say goodbye only yesterday- was it yesterday? He couldn’t tell anymore.   
_-I broke his mind!-_ Emma snapped. _I showed you!-_  
“You haven’t broken mine.” Erik said. Part of him knew taunting her like this was dangerous; but if she broke him, Erik could not be used by Lady Frost against the woman he had sworn service to, against his-

 _Friends?-_ Emma cackled. _-That is so sweet.-_ Erik screamed as she raked through his mind.  
 _You won’t break, my fine Sword. I won’t kill you._ she crooned, tenderly. _-I need you for more than puppetry.-_ Erik tried to grit his teeth. _Your bloodlines, added to mine- it’s everything I’ll need to claim the throne.-_ Her tone turned thoughtful, musing. Erik could not contain the instinctive burst of disbelief. His _bloodline?_ What could she possibly hope to do with that?  
“I’m an orphan, I’m not even high born enough to-“  
 _-You only think that, sweetling.-_ Emma said, and her voice turned coaxing.

_-Shaw did his work well. You have a claim to the throne; so do I. Once that blue brat is dead and gone; and no other direct heir-_  
Erik roared in furious protest at the idea of Raven’s death. He ignored the nonsense she’d been babbling about his family. Emma was clearly losing her grip on reality.  
“I am a sworn _Sword_ , do you really think I’ll step over my Lady’s corpse to serve her murderer?” Emma snorted.  
 _Oh, you can be released from your vows easily enough.-_ Erik’s thoughts cut off as agony swept him from head to toe. He wasn’t sure if he was screaming aloud anymore.

When he could breathe and think again, Emma had moved on to other things.  
 _Make him so sorry he abandoned me, make them all kneel, kneel, KNEEL TO ME!-_  
“You really have gone completely crazy, haven’t you?” he said, conversationally, into the dark. Her mutterings snapped off, startled. He grinned, wolfishly, and hoped she could feel it, even if he was no longer able to control his face.  
 _Too close; how can you hear me? Damn Charles; he-_

Erik let her ramble, and tried to convince himself that the cold sinking feeling, in his stomach, the piercing dread, was another of her tricks. He was afraid it wasn’t. _Charles._ She seemed fairly confident that she had hurt Charles, badly. But Charles was at the Palace; he must be safe, safe and looked after- the others wouldn’t abandon him. He would recover, he-  
 _-I broke his mind-._ Emma said, almost regretfully. _-It’s all over the city. He’s mad. No memory. Useless.-_  
“No!” Erik wanted to cry. No, that _couldn’t_ be so. Not Charles…

 _-I learn from my mistakes.-_ Emma said. _-Whatever Sebastian says. You_ will _work for me, will serve me- I just have to find the right levers in here. Now keep still.-_ And then Erik was trying to scream again, as she slashed through his mind and memories. There was a distant quaking feeling; Erik thought he might have started to convulse. He clung, stubbornly, to images: Raven’s merry blue face; Charles’s smile. Sean’s idiot glazed stare. The pain continued to mount.   
_-Just a little more…-_  
Slowly, the images began to crumble.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

Charles’s mind descended on Erik’s anguished consciousness like a falcon stooping for its prey. Erik was too far gone to do more than twitch as he felt the warm protection of Charles’s regard mantle over him, wing-like. The relief from pain was heavenly.  
 ~~ _-Charles?-_~~ A burning bright fire regarded him; pressing healing and affection into Erik’s bones. Erik swallowed, hardly daring to hope. He was afraid, so afraid that this was just a dream, or another trick of Emma’s. If it was Charles, if he was alright, then-

 _-Erik.-_ That was a new voice in his head, not Emma’s. _-I’m here. I’ve got you._ And the telepathic voice was recognisably Charles’, certainly, but somehow… there was more to it than that. More to him. Power overlaid that voice; and strength infused it. Erik blinked. Charles _burned_ like a meteorite, bringing clear light into the darkness Erik was trapped in. The tendrils of Emma’s mind recoiled, abruptly and painfully enough to leave him gasping and falling. Erik cried out.  
 _-Ah -ah –ah- easy there.-_ Charles said, steadying him with a gentle mental touch. Erik clung to him, desperately. The grip that seized him in return was stronger than steel.

 

“Charles.” Erik said, hurriedly. “Warn- warn them. Emma is mad- she’s trying to k-“  
Emma lashed out, frantically trying to smother his thoughts. Erik screamed, wracked in pain, until he felt a soundless, massive impact beside him as Charles’s power slammed down mighty barriers between his mind and Emma’s. The pain vanished like a bad dream. Erik’s mind was ringed with defences like castle walls. Charles’s mind circled above them as he confronted Erik’s attacker. Erik tried to keep breathing. It seemed to be getting a little harder.

 _Emma Frost-_ Charles said, mental voice harder and colder than Erik had ever heard him in real life. _-Would you like a list of the ways in which you have transgressed?-_  
Emma cursed them, and struck out. Erik flinched, but Charles batted the telepathic blast away as if it were nothing.  
 _-You- what are you?-_ Emma said, wonderingly _-I have never-_ Charles struck her down, easily. He held Erik’s mind reassuringly as they both felt Emma begin to panic.  
 _-I? I am Charles Xavier, sworn Sword and Champion-Elect of Genosha.-_ Charles was very calm, as Emma struggled against him. _-I am also Sword Lensherr’s friend._

_-Ah- I hardly need add that I appear to have unblocked my telepathy, at this point?-_ he said, wryly, for Erik’s ears alone. Erik smiled, incredulously.   
“Not really, Charles, no.” He blinked again, and startled, briefly as his vision seemed to be filtering back in. “Oh good. My eyesight’s back. I was afraid she’d struck me blind.”   
_-!-_ said Charles, startled and suddenly angry, at that. Emma said nothing. Erik could feel Charles’s mind moving over him, checking for damage. He drew another breath, and looked at his hands. Suddenly, Erik’s metal sense surged up and out. Erik closed his eyes at the tremendous wave of relief the chorus of metallic hums brought him.  
 _-No, you’re fine.-_ Charles said, finally. _-Do you know where you are?_  
“Looks like- some small lodging in the city.” Erik said. “Wait- where are you?! I can’t see you, only-“ 

The house looked to be in the east quarter, judging by the view of the street he could make out through the shuttered window. Erik looked around the room. Where was Charles? He had to be in the house; Emma was a strong telepath, and yet there she lay, fallen by the window, only her eyes moving in furious, jerky blinks.  
 _I’m close by._ Charles said, swiftly. _-In the Palace. Come to me. I’ve got her held safe; and the Logan and the Palace Guards will be there very soon- Come home to me._  
“I- Charles, how-“ Erik said, standing automatically at the weight of desperate appeal Charles had loaded into his last sentence. 

He began to look round for clothes and shoes; Emma had stripped him and laid him on the bed at some point, and although he was anxious to be out of her presence, he preferred to be clothed before running through the streets of the city.  
 _-Hmm-_ Charles said, _-I’m not sure all the citizens would agree.-_  
“Charles, how-“ Erik pulled on a shirt, and trousers. They weren’t his, but they fitted.  
 _-Jean helped me._ Charles said. Erik bristled a little. Charles sent him a soothing thought.

 _-After warping my mind for a few months, Emma attacked me.-_ Charles said, sounding faintly strained. Erik saw his boots, huddled into a corner, and thrust them onto his bare feet quickly. He didn’t bother with socks. There was a cloak draped over the chair.  
 _-When Jean helped me recover from that- well, we sort of unblocked my telepathy completely.-_ Charles sounded sheepish. Erik wanted to laugh; but he also wanted to be as far away from Emma as possible.  
 _-She won’t hurt you any more.-_ Charles said. _-I shall see it so.-_ Iron rang from his thoughts. 

“I’m on my way.” Erik said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik returns to the Palace, and reports to his Lady. Charles and Moira are also there.

Erik limped stiffly into Raven’s audience chamber, and knelt before her on one knee, fist to his chest. He was pale, and he looked weary. More than weary, Raven thought, he looked almost ill. Charles had said he’d been being held by Emma; had the man come straight here after Logan had taken Emma. Erik cleared his throat and said, slightly hoarsely:  
“My Lady-“ Raven interrupted him.  
“Erik, get up from there at once!” She looked about, and clapped her hands; sending a servant running for hot wine and food, as Moira snatched a wrap from the back of a chair and laid it around his shoulders, and urged him to sit.

“I- you don’t need to make a fuss.” Erik said, discomfited.  
“Have you seen your face?” Raven said. “You look terrible.” He laughed, rustily. “Charles said-“ She bit her lip.  
“Charles.” Erik said, urgently. “What happened; how is he?- She said she’d, she’d-“  
“Charles is fine.” Moira said, her dark eyes holding his gaze reassuringly. “Angel had the sense to go for Madame Grey.” Erik fought down a stab of jealousy.  
“She thought someone from a House of Pleasure-?” he said.  
“She’s a telepath, too.” Raven said. “She, she cured him.”  
“Oh.” Erik said. Well. If that was what Charles wanted.

“I- Emma was trying to re work my mind.” Erik said, urgently. “I don’t know why she snapped like that; but she insisted, if you were dead, she was heir.”  
“She’s not.” Raven said, and scowled. “She’s _not_.” Erik nodded. He really did feel a little peculiar, still.  
“She wanted my loyalty.” Erik said. “More than anything.” He shuddered. Raven clicked her tongue, and moved to direct the returning servant.  
“Set that here. Thank you- now, leave us, please.” She sloshed hot wine into a cup and pressed it into his hand. Erik lifted it unsteadily to his mouth and gulped.

Moira closed the door, firmly. Raven sat down, next to Erik, and took his free hand in hers.  
“There. No eavesdroppers.” Moira said, returning to them. Erik twitched as he realised he had been too shaken to notice that there’d been other people present.   
“Erik.” Raven said, softly. “Can you tell me more? We have her in custody, but- I must lay this whole mess before the King my Father, or it’s take forever to move through the law court and-“ Erik nodded.  
“I can make my report to you now.” He said, slowly. “Shaw requested I mediate among his farmers.” He swallowed. “On the way there, I was seized by Emma Frost; and rendered unconscious.”

“What weapon-“   
“Her _mind_ , Moira, what else?” Erik swallowed more wine. It tasted bitter, under the spiced sweetness. “I- she conveyed me back to the city; and, she tried, she tried to. Well. Change my mind.” He breathed in. Raven and Moira waited patiently. “It- she wasn’t subtle. She’s mad, now, I think. Completely crazy. Told me Shaw had concealed my noble birth-“  
“Shaw, again.” Raven said, grimly. He nodded.  
“And, she was going to marry me and claim the throne for our- her- child.” Moira raised an eyebrow. Raven grimaced. “I don’t know how long that lasted- a day, maybe? Then.” He stopped, cleared his throat. “Then Charles found us. Found me.”

How could he describe that? How could he tell them how it had felt, to be so suddenly and swiftly protected? Erik did not think of himself as a proud man, but the rush of awed gratitude and love that had pierced him as Charles’s incredible mind embraced him was something he wanted to keep for himself, alone.  
“It- I have never witnessed a telepathic battle before.” Erik said. “It was… strange.”  
“How were you able to sense it?” Moira said, fascinated. Erik looked at her.   
“They were fighting over me. In me. In my mind.” He pointed out, helpfully. “Of course I could sense it.”

Silently, he recalled the events just past, the shining power that was Charles’s mind. _How_ had the man managed to unlock so much in the short time Erik had been away. What had been done to him? Abruptly, Erik put his wine cup down. A frown creased his brow and he leant forwards, gazing at Raven.  
“My Lady- I should warn you- Emma tried to suborn me, mind and soul, to her cause.” Raven nodded. “I don’t think she succeeded, but- I don’t know- she may have left, left something behind, in me. We should not trust me too much.“

“No, Erik.” A familiar voice spoke from behind him. “No. Your mind is your own, I swear it.” Erik swivelled to see Charles himself, standing at the doorway. Smiling. As he moved forwards and went to one knee before Raven- who waved him up, ferociously- Erik gazed at him, rapt. Charles seemed different. His eye was brighter, his smile sharper; he moved with more grace and confidence, and, even in the looser linen and woollens he preferred, he looked sharper, more focused- _and more beautiful_ \- Erik thought to himself than he had ever been before. Charles rose from his knees, turned his head towards Erik and winked. Erik blinked.

“Charles.” He said, and abruptly, could say nothing more. A wave of gratitude, of relief and affection poured through him and choked in his throat. Charles went a little pink.  
“Erik.” he said. Moira rolled her eyes.  
 _“Boys.”_ Raven muttered, and Charles went pinker.  
“I can promise, absolutely, that nothing remains of Frost in your mind,” Charles said, and swung to address Raven. He stood so close to Erik’s chair, Erik could feel Charles’s body warmth. Erik dug his hands into his knees to prevent himself from reaching out and taking Charles’ hand.

“I- with the assistance and teaching of Madame Grey- was able to prevent that, at least.” Charles said, folding his hands behind his back. “Um.” He said, uncertainly. “I’m so sorry I didn’t stop her before.”  
“Charles.” Erik and Raven said at the same time. Raven gestured at Charles to sit, and he did, swiftly.  
“Charles, how would you have stopped her?” Raven said, thoughtfully.  
“I- well, apparently, in our lessons; she was using the time to, well, try and change me. And ah, stifle my development.” Charles said. He looked at his knees. “I should have noticed-“

“How?” Moira said, briskly. Charles blinked at her. “I don’t know. But-“  
“But nothing.” Raven said. “You stopped her before she turned Erik’s brains to paste- sorry, Erik.” Erik nodded, and tried to conceal the wave of nausea her words had provoked. Gently, Charles’ mind soothed it away. Erik took a deep breath.  
“She’s right. You came for me. I- I would have been glad to die; when you did.” Erik said. “And if she was working on you slowly, she was probably also telling you not to notice.” Moira pointed out. Erik’s hand, unbidden, stole out and took Charles’ hand, stopping it from worrying at Charles’s trousers.

“Oh.” Charles said. He squeezed Erik’s hand, companionably. Erik felt inexplicably warmed.   
“My Lady.” Charles said. “We must now talk about the King’s Champion.” Moira nodded. Raven blinked.  
“He was behind Emma from the very beginning.” Charles said. “After her attack, he tried to persuade me I was his slave and his spy.” Erik heard a low growl, and realised it was coming from him.  
“Did he-“  
“No, Erik, he didn’t.” Charles said, but his shoulders hunched up. Briefly, Erik was reminded of Charles as he had been before Genosha. He swallowed down his protective anger.

“There are a lot of rumours going around court.” Raven said. Charles grinned.  
“Some of them are ours.” He said, more cheerfully.  
“I like the one where you legs have fallen off due to your pregnancy.” Moira said, dryly. Erik blinked. Charles went pink again.  
“Yes, well, we need to think about these things because Alex found out- one of Shaw’s servants told a girl who told his friend Dar- he’s planning on forcibly retiring me, and maybe Erik, now, too- because of our ill-health.”  
“Neat.” Moira said. “Silence the people who have the most damaging stories to tell, and remove two of your supporters and protectors, at once. Might even be able to keep Emma from facing any major punishment at all.”  
“And you’d have to appoint another Champion elect.” Charles said. “Which was something he was trying to do when I first got here.”  
“You would still have loyal servants without us.” Erik said, quickly, as Raven paled.

“Not the damn point.” Raven said. She rose. “I must speak with my father.”  
The others rose as she did. Charles kept hold of Erik’s hand.  
“The matter will still be forced in front of the Council.” Moira said. “I don’t think-“  
“True.” Raven said, tightly. “But, if he knows the full story- The monarch’s will or opinion has always been a, a powerful influence on the Council.” Erik and Moira nodded. Charles decided they probably knew best.  
“I’m going to speak to him now- before Shaw has more time to poison things further.” Raven said, tightly, and moved to the door. She swung back to look at Charles and Erik, who were still holding hands.

“And you two should talk. To each other.” Moira said, softly.   
“Now?” Erik said. Shouldn’t they be planning out their next move against Shaw and Emma?  
“Here?” Charles said. In the Lady of Genosha’s own chambers?   
“Here.” Raven said, and smiled, faintly. “Now.” She waved at the room. “There’s food, there’s wine- no one will disturb you here, so go on- talk.” The door opened for her, and she wept through, followed by Moira. Erik looked at Charles. Charles looked at Erik.  
“Talk?” Charles said, eyes dancing. 

Erik gulped.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Charles get a few things sorted out between them.

Erik faltered, suddenly uncertain. He had no idea what he wanted to say to Charles, or how to say any of it. It was soon clear that his companion had so such problems. As soon as the Lady and her attendant were out of the room, Charles reached for Erik, embracing him fiercely. Erik, mildly bemused at the suddenly change in Charles’s demeanour, let him get on with it. It seemed the easiest thing to do. It was also very pleasant, to have Charles so close, and not tensing up.  
“Charles.” He said, into Charles’ hair, after a moment. “Are you quite well?”  
“Am _I_ quite well?” Charles said, incredulously. “You were _kidnapped_ by her!”

“And I was the one who was rescued.” Erik pointed out, leading the way to the nearest bench. “You had to rescue yourself.” Charles smiled.   
“That was more Jean’s doing.” He said. Erik sternly forbade himself to feel jealous. “Ah- do you mind if I just make sure?” He waggled his fingers by his head. “I had to hurry. And you still look very pale.” Erik tried to control his instinctive flinch- he knew Charles would never hurt him, not deliberately- and nodded. Charles bit his lip, and touched one hand to his temple. He closed his eyes.

Erik breathed in.

Erik felt himself cradled by a searching regard that pierced him painlessly through and through. It was an almost indescribably intimate feeling. Charles was entwined in Erik, and they were closer, in that moment, than any other humans could ever be; closer than lovers, closer than a child within its mother. Charles moved though his mind gently, bearing him up like the sea as he weighed and measured and searched Erik as if he were the most precious, most familiar thing he would ever know.

Erik breathed out.

“Quick.” He said, a little hoarsely. “Less than a single breath, in fact.”  
“But thorough.” Charles was reassuring. “You’re fine. Thank you. I just had to be sure. And… I’m sorry.”   
“About what?” Erik tried not to panic. Charles had just said he was fine.  
“I- I wasn’t very good at stopping her.” Charles said, rubbing at his face. “I didn’t notice what she was doing to me-“  
“What was she doing to you? Exactly?” Erik held out the wine. Charles waved it away.  
“Making me worse.” Erik frowned, puzzled. 

“Every session, little by little. Making me afraid, of my friends, my mind, myself.” Charles folded inwards. He looked haunted. Erik wrapped an arm around him.  
“And the other day?” Erik said, gently. “That wasn’t little.”  
“She lost her temper; and I nearly lost my mind.” Charles said. “I did lose my memory- of all of you. And all of Genosha.” Erik squeezed him more tightly.  
“Was it very bad? I wish I’d been here.” Charles gave him a faint smile  
“So do I.” he said. “She might have left you alone, then- and I’m sorry.”  
“Don’t apologise for her.” Erik said, harshly. “Charles do you have any idea what you did, what it was like; to be trapped, like that and then set free?”

He closed his eyes, remembering the sudden, shocking cessation of pain and fear as Charles’s mind- so completely him- encircled and defended him.  
“Yes.” Charles said, voice steady. “You know I do. Jean helped me remember it.” He looked at Erik’s blank face, and sighed. He slid the token out of his woollen tunic’s pocket and put it in Erik’s hand. “You did that for me.” Erik turned the token over, staring. “Instinctively.” Charles added, a bitter twist to his mouth.  
“I just did what needed doing.” Erik said. “It’s hardly a fair comparison.”

“I think it is.” Charles said. “And- my moving against Emma- I was slow, clumsy.” He sounded apologetic. “My telepathy; my Gift it’s all pretty new.” Erik handed the token back. Reluctantly, Charles took it.  
“It seemed the blink of an eye to me.” Erik said.  
“Yes but- I should have been faster.” Charles said, unhappily. “It’s not instinctive, for me and it _should be._ ; I had to think about it- she was able to keep hurting you even after I got there.” Charles bit his lip, viciously. 

“You saved my mind, Charles.” Erik said. “And my vows.” Gently, Erik eased the bitten lip out from between Charles’ teeth. Charles twitched, and Erik was recalled to himself. He dropped his hand and shifted along the bench.  
“Sorry.” He muttered, to his knees. Shame swamped him.  
“What?” Charles said, blankly.  
“I- You don’t like being touched. I forgot.” Erik said, and did not raise his head.  
“I’ve been hugging you- practically sitting your lap for the past ten minutes!” Charles pointed out. “You just let me into your _head_ \- why are you apologising for touching my face?”

“Yes, but- Charles, I was- I hurt you.” Erik said. Charles looked baffled. “Before; before I left, we tried-“  
“That’s hardly the same.” Charles said, primly. “We’re both changed.” He added, more gently, as Erik continued to stare at the floor.  
“You ended up shaking and sick, every time, and I swore-“  
“Erik.” Charles said, firmly. “Stop it.”  
“I just- I want you to be happy.” Erik said to his knees. “And- I should have thought; that after- well, Westchester, men would be-“ he broke off. 

“Erik, are you alright?” Charles said. “You’ve stopped making any sense.”  
“I know Jean has helped you.” Erik said, and Charles blinked.  
“What has that to do with, well, touching?” he said, bewildered. “Jean doesn’t touch-“ He broke off, and started again. “I don’t like being touched when I don’t know who it is well enough, Erik. That hasn’t changed. But without Emma’s mess in here-“ He tapped his temple- “I know you.” Erik looked up.  
“I thought- maybe, after playing your owner, you couldn’t- didn’t want to say no.” he said, quietly. “I- on the journey; it suddenly seemed so clear. That I’d-” 

Charles took Erik’s hand in his, and turned it palm up.  
“And when, on this journey, after that strange realisation, did you see Emma?” he said, dryly. The light began to dawn   
“Almost at once.” Erik said. “Oh.” Charles traced out the lines on Erik’s palm with his finger nail. Erik repressed a shiver. Charles turned his head and smiled, slightly slyly.  
“I would never confuse you with them.” Charles said. “Not even when you were my owner.” His finger trailed up Erik’s wrist. Erik swallowed.  
“Charles.” He said, weakly. Charles kept talking.

“You were, you know. And I was a slave.”  
“But not now.” Erik said, grateful the finger had stopped moving. Even if Charles was now taking his pulse.  
“No.” Charles agreed. “I’ve been free – truly free- for some time.”  
“But I-“ Charles shook his head.  
“Erik. Since the morning I sobered up after my tags were cut off; you have never, ever treated me like a slave. I have problems when things remind me of the past- I don’t have a problem with _you._ ” 

“Oh.” Erik said. Warm relief washed thorugh him, but he was forced to add “And Jean?”  
“Is a _friend_ , Erik, really.” Charles laughed, before sobering up. “I’m not saying; I don’t have -problems. With touching and so on.” Charles said. “But I am saying- now both our minds are our own again- I can work with them. If you want.” He added, slightly shyly.  
“I want.” Erik said, roughly. “After we deal with Shaw, and Emma, if you- I want.”  
“After then. Well, _that’s_ an inducement, if ever I saw one.” Charles said. “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting close to the end of this one. Be not downhearted, though- there is another story in this sequence- Token Wooing. Which I will start once I've knocked the next WIP- probably Test Subject E- on the head.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we come to the end game. And everything is up in the air...

Charles glanced around the chamber. All of the Council members were present, seated almost randomly around the great table with the King’s chair at the head. Some were looking eager, others bored. Lady Pryde inclined her head to him, good sign, he hoped. Charles smiled at her, politely. He sat quietly on his customary chair and waited for things to begin. He distracted his nerves by checking on the presence and locations of his friends. Logan leaned against one wall, in full Palace Guard dress uniform. Moira stood near him, at a parade rest. Sean hovered in the antechamber with Alex, and half the other Swords Erik and he trusted, all ready to rush in if needed. Nearby, Charles could feel Jean and Anne-Marie’s minds as they monitored the captive Emma’s restraints.

Charles hid his frown. It was only because Jean and he were certain Emma’s Gift was still bound that Anne-Marie was allowed within the Palace; but he could not deny that the little girl’s powers would be useful in restraining Emma, if needed. But he did not want to expose the girl to a sudden emergence of telepathy, not with so many dark or dangerous minds around. And he did not want her anywhere near Lord Sebastian Shaw, the King’s Champion. Neither did Jean; but she was not leaving her adopted daughter home alone at such a critical time. There was a sudden stir, and Charles sat forwards. The Lady of Genosha and her attendants were entering the audience chamber.

 

“My Lords. My Ladies.” Raven said, steadily. Her voice warmed. “My King.” Darkholme smiled at her.   
“What have you to say, my daughter?” he said. Erik frowned. Charles felt a wave of concern from him. The king sounded… tired. Frail.  
“Grave news.” Raven said. “I stand before you, wishing to seek to put an end to the gossiping that has been flying about by enquiring into the truth; before you all.” Many of the Council looked directly at Charles, currently dressed in his finest coat. Charles squared his shoulders and looked at Raven. Alex had spent an hour fixing the lace onto the cuffs of his shirt properly. He wished Erik could be there next to him; but he was busy standing at Raven’s right hand, as if he were her substitute Champion. Misdirection was key. The plan turned on Shaw’s underestimating all of them, but especially Charles.

“I move that we pursue this enquiry now.” Shaw said, and he looked at Charles steadily, in a way that left the newly emerged telepath feeling as if he had recently been rolled in slime. Charles glanced at the floor, before swinging his gaze back to Raven, who gave him a deliberately visible nod of reassurance.   
“Noted and permitted. Begin.” King Darkholme said, a little brusquely, to his Champion. A slight frown creased Shaw’s face; clearly he had not expected the King to begin withdrawing his support so obviously.  
“If Charles Xavier-“ Shaw started, smoothly enough.   
“My Champion-elect.” Raven’s voice snapped like a whip. Shaw blinked, and bowed.

“Of course, my apologies, my dear.” The king frowned as Shaw addressed his daughter as if she were a still child. Shaw altered his tone as he spoke more widely. “If the Champion-elect could make his statement.” And he grinned, a little sharply, at Charles. Charles swallowed, and stood. Here it came. He had not practiced his speech; as he did not want it to sound polished. He hoped he wouldn’t forget anything.  
“Sire.” He said, and King Darkholme smiled at him to continue. “My Lady. Honourable fellow members of the King’s Council.” He paused, but no one challenged his assertion of rank. Shaw’s smile grew wider. “I have been undertaking lessons for some time with Lady Emma Frost, in the hopes of reviving my Gift after I took the shaking fever as a child…”

Charles was considerably paler by the time he finished his account of Emma’s doings. He had not mentioned his certain knowledge that Shaw was behind them; not yet. Let Shaw still be confused as to whether Charles was truly recovered or not. Raven’s face was set, calm, where she sat next to her father.  
“And then?” Shaw said, silkily. Peter Wisdom cleared his throat.  
“Can I ask, Sebastian, why you seem to have appointed yourself questioner in chief?” he said, deceptively mildly. Shaw whirled round to face him. Charles took advantage the shift in attention to catch Logan’s eye. The burly man snorted, and nodded at him, cheerily.  
“Someone has to manage things.” Shaw said, smoothly. The King snorted. Lord Wisdom’s eyes narrowed.

“And then, what happened next?” Lady Pryde said, gently. Charles gulped and continued. Lord Shaw’s appearance, followed by Sean. He had been planning to carry on, explain how Jean had restored him, before handing the thread of the talk over to Erik; but Shaw cut in again.  
“This is indeed a sad tale.” He said, looking serious. “And I, for one, do believe Ch- the Champion-elect.” He looked sternly at the crowded council table. “But… Charles…” His voice softened. “For your health’s sake; I respectfully suggest you withdraw yourself and _retire_ before we come to question the telepath herself.” Erik stiffened.  
“What?” he snapped, before Raven could say anything. She frowned. Shaw smiled again.  
“Charles.” He said, and then faltered as he caught the mood of the Council. “Charles, you were hurt.” His tone turned grimmer. “You are ill; we should not ask more of you than-“

“I swore a vow, my lord Champion.” Charles said, sharply. “To serve my Lady-“ He caught Raven’s eye and nodded to her. She smiled, fiercely. “To the end of my life, not to the end of my health.” The Council murmured approvingly.   
“I must _insist._ ” Shaw said. “You are not fit.” The muscles round his jaw clenched.  
“At what point, Champion, did you feel the need to turn my daughter’s inquiry into the actions of Lady Frost, into your own inquiry over his health or fitness?” the King snapped, before coughing.  
“Of course, if your Majesties seek to uphold Charles Xavier despite his infirmities, there is no more to say.” Shaw said, conciliatorily. “Shall we turn to Erik Lehnsherr’s testimony?”

Erik almost bounced up from his seat. Shaw squared his shulders, ready for the next move.  
“I beg leave to speak before the Council.” A woman’s voice said. Shaw blinked. Erik turned, sharply. A smile spread across his face before he could stop himself, when he saw the speaker. Charles smiled to himself, too.  
“I permit it.” The King said. “Sword, you may be seated again.” Erik sat. Raven smiled. Shaw looked thunderstruck.  
“My Lords, my Ladies.” She said, as she approached the table. “Majesty.” She took a breath in. “You know me, you know my House.” A small smile curved one side of her face. Carefully, she did not say how many of them knew her.

“Charles Xavier is fully recovered from the attack Lady Frost made on him.” Charles did his best to look Healthy and Cured. It wasn’t hard. “She temporarily disarranged his memory, little more. I am a telepath; and now, _so is he._ ” she smiled. “I am willing to swear any number of oaths to that point.”  
“This is rare indeed, for our royalty to take advice from whores!” Shaw snarled, visibly losing control. Someone at the table gasped. Jean looked at Shaw with icy contempt.  
“Your reputation, Madam.” Shaw said, furious. “You are nothing but a common-“  
“Not so common you have not sought admission to my Houses’ chambers.” Jean Grey said. “Not so common you have not tried to buy me or silence me. My Lord Champion.” Her voice was as cold and disgusted as her look.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Never mind the past history.” Lady Pryde said, wearily. “You are well known for being truthful about you Gift; is Charles-“ She gave him an apologetic glance-“Fit to serve?”  
“Yes.” Jean Grey said, simply. “As long as he keeps practicing, he will be a fine telepath, in time.   
“As I can also testify.” Erik said, quickly, before Shaw, stunned by Jean’s calm defiance and the Council’s acceptance of it, could seize the moment. The King nodded.  
“I was travelling on the business of Lord Shaw, when Lady Emma assaulted me.” Erik said, matter of factly. “She seized me, carried me off, and attempted to take control of my mind and reshape my personality to serve her ends.” He explained a little more about what Emma had wanted from him. 

Yes, she’d decided to make a bid for the throne, no, he could not explain why. “She’s crazy.” He said, flatly, and shrugged. Charles had to bite back a smile. Direct and to the point, yes, that was Erik.  
“And did this… madam also assist your miraculous escape and recovery?” Shaw said, attempting to sound bored. Erik grinned, ferally. Shaw nearly recoiled.  
“No. The Champion-elect searched for me, found me, and recalled me to myself.” Erik said, and the Council members muttered to each other for a long time.  
“I see.” Shaw said, slowly. The King coughed again. 

“Sire, with your permission, shall have a short recess before we hear the testimony of the accused?” he said, smoothly. “I believe some refreshments may be in order.”  
“This is not a trial, Lord Shaw.” The king said, but he sounded weary. Raven put a hand on his, anxiously. He smiled at her. “But yes, a short recess is permitted.”  
“I thank you.” Shaw said. The king rose, and everyone rose with him. Darkholme rested his hand on Raven’s shoulder, and they moved out of the chamber, slowly. Erik followed them, looking worried.

Charles moved away from the muttering councillors, slowly. Logan pushed off from the wall his was leaning on, and began to make his way through the crowd.  
“Charles.” Charles turned to see Shaw, at his elbow. “I think it’s time you and I talked, isn’t it?” A hand seized his arm, just above the elbow, viciously tight.  
“I don’t think-“ Charles said, nervously.  
“Now.” Shaw snarled, and Charles felt the sharp prick of a hidden knife.  
 _-Logan-_ he said, silently. _-Get some of the councillors to follow us. I think the plan has worked.-_  
Logan grinned.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final confrontation...
> 
>  
> 
> hehehehehehehehehehehehehe.

Charles swallowed, trying to control his racing heart and his unsteady breathing, as Shaw hustled them into a small room, away from the Council crowd. He would be fine. Logan knew what was going on. Hopefully he was observing this, from on or other of the spyholes the Palace was riddled with. Charles wished Erik could have been as well, but he’d never have allowed Charles to risk himself like this. He could not enter Sebastian’s mind without tipping him off; if Lord Shaw became violent; Charles could probably stop him without too much damage occurring either to Charles himself, or to the furnishings.

The knife at Charles’ side moved slightly as Shaw stumbled, sliding through the finely embroidered cloth of Charles’s coat and cutting into his skin. Charles bit back a gasp. He had to play for time; keep Sebastian talking until everything else was in place. He had to.  
Shaw pushed him, slipping the knife back up his sleeve, and watched with hooded eyes as Charles stumbled away.  
“You seem awfully… eager for a private meeting, Champion.” Charles said, a little breathless. “The knife was not necessary.” He examined the cut on his coat. Alex was not going to be pleased. 

Shaw laughed, shortly, tucking his hands into his pockets.  
“You are a rare piece of work, _slave._ ” He leant against the wall, casually.  
“Ex slave.” Charles said, gently. “I remember.” He smiled, thinly. Shaw glared at him, briefly.  
“Oh, you do, do you?” Shaw said. “Are you sure?” He sneered. “I suppose that other telepathic bitch has filled your little mind with lies this time.”  
“This time?” Charles said, and moved to lean on the table. He wrapped his hands around the smooth wood, bracing himself.

Charles wasn’t annoyed or frightened by Shaw’s implications. They were rushed and clumsy. Anyone who had met both Emma and Jean would never assume the two were _remotely_ similar. Charles smiled faintly, at the thought of either lady learning the comparison had been made. Neither would be pleased. In any case, if Jean had been lying to him; she would have had to do more than re order his memories, especially after she unlocked his Gift- and that was quite apart from the fact that the non-Shaw version of events had made so much more sense, to Charles, than Shaw’s had. 

“I suppose I got a little carried away, last time.” Shaw said, smoothly.  
“The part where you told me you owned me, or the part where you told me if I spied well enough for you, you might free me?” Charles said, as if curious. He did not mention Sebastian’s wandering hands; he didn’t want to give the man any ideas. Shaw’s lips tightened.  
“Either. Both.” He said, less smoothly. Charles shrugged.  
“I’m reasonably certain no one planted false memories of you instructing Emma to flee and refusing to aid her in a cover up of what she’d been doing to me.” He said, softly, pointedly.

Charles folded his arms across his chest. Shaw tilted his head, acknowledging the point.  
“Well, she wasn’t any more use to me, once I saw she was capable of doing that, really.” He said, smoothly. Charles’ eyes narrowed. _Almost._ That was almost enough. Shaw looked at him, suspiciously.  
“What is your game, Charles? What are you trying to prove?”  
“Game?” Charles said, calmly. “I’m not playing a _game_ Sebastian. I’m most serious. You, ah, rather demanded I attend you here. What do you want?” Sebastian inclined his head, in acknowledgement.  
“And that’s what I want.” Sebastian said, easily enough. 

“What?” Charles did his best to look blank and puzzled. It was not difficult.  
“Your attendance on me.” Shaw was positively leering.   
“You cannot mean.-“ Charles said. Shaw laughed.  
“Oh, not like that. Not now, anyway.” He added. Charles’s stomach lurched. “But, Charles, I have been running this country-the important parts of it- for centuries. You cannot think to interfere, not realistically.” Shaw’s smile was wide; his shoulders set, his eyes firm. But Charles could feel the tiny threads of Shaw’s doubt, his impatience and anger beginning to grow and tangle within.   
“ Forgive me. I did not know you were the King.” Charles said, stiffly. Shaw frowned, impatient.  
“No, I’m more skilled. More learned. More truly powerful than one overly indulged old man and his brat of a daughter.”

“And yet, still not the King.” Charles said, lightly, tauntingly. Sebastian grimaced.  
“Few subjects are truly happy with an immortal King. Odd, but true. I have found it takes too much effort to keep things going.” He said, wryly. Charles kept his expression blank. “But you, Charles- I have underestimated you until now, but I will not do so in the future.” Shaw’s voice turned threatening. “Cease thwarting my will; retire and allow me to find a suitable candidate for Raven’s Champion, and I won’t hurt any of you. Not even Erik.” He paused, thoughtfully. “I’ll even let you have Emma.”  
“Why would I want-” Charles began, before Shaw’s laughter- sounding ever so slightly forced- cut him off.

“If you aren’t amused by the idea of vengeance, at least you should protect yourself from your enemies, Charles.” He said, with the air of a kindly teacher. “We can do such terrible things, you know.” He bared his teeth in something that could be called a smile.  
“You’re being very frank, Lord Shaw.” Charles smiled, thinly. “All of a sudden. Should I be suspicious?”  
 _Logan? Jean?_ He said. _Do you hear this?_ There was no reply.  
“Probably always.” Shaw said, lightly. “But; I see no point in lying to you, here. It’s not as if anyone would believe _you_. Not without-” he tapped his temple, mockingly “Your Gift at work.”  
“You seem very certain I won’t do that.” Charles said. Shaw smiled, and took a step towards him. Charles became more wary. Shaw took another stem, boxing Charles in against the table.  
“Lady Frost couldn’t influence the whole Court. She tried.” His hand closed over Charl4es’s hand, pinning it to the table. 

“And I doubt you could ever hope to match her, you-“ Charles tugged at his hand, hard and then harder. Shaw’s hand gripped his like a vice; immoveable. He smiled, white and sharp and cruel.  
 _Logan._ Charles said, urgently, again. He was beginning to be very seriously worried. Logan didn’t reply. What were they all doing?  
“You will go out there and tell those weak idiots who think they rule that you are unwell. That your Erik is unwell. ” Shaw said. His other hand shot out, gripping Charles’ chin, forcing him to meet Shaw’s eyes.  
“No.” Charles said, through numb lips. “You can’t-“ Shaw released him and stood back. Charles did not relax.  
“I think you’ll find, Charles, I can do just about anything I want.” Shaw seized Charles by the front of his coat, and threw him halfway across the room. The sudden surge of his strength was shocking.

Charles smacked into the tapestry and slid to the floor dazed, the air knocked out of him. He struggled to get up, but his feet tangled in the rug and he slipped down again. He stared at Shaw, startled by the new side to Shaw’s Gift. The man was more than immortal.   
“If you won’t co-operate, Charles.” Shaw said, rolling back his sleeves. “I’ll be forced to eliminate you.”  
 _LOGAN_ Charles shouted, desperately. 

Shaw strolled across the room and reached out again, hands glowing strangely.   
“I promise you it’s too quick to hurt.” He said, apparently soothingly. “You won’t even leave a body.” His smile was ghastly.  
“You cannot think to get away-“ Shaw paused.  
“I have before.” He said, and took hold of Charles’s collar, jerking him to his feet. A voice bellowed.  
“STOP THERE! IN THE NAME OF THE KING!” Charles heaved a sigh of relief. Logan. At last. Shaw whirled, furious, discarding his hold on Charles instantly. He stamped his foot down, hard, like an angry child. Charles was briefly boggled, until he saw the stone floor heave and buckle like a wave under the impact. There was a bright flash, and then a loud noise, louder and longer than thunder.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final move in Shaw's game.

The tapestry along the far wall slid off its cracked and crooked hangers and collapsed over Charles. Logan grinned fiercely.   
“Pretty, bub. But you ain’t getting anywhere doing _that_.” Flushed and sweating, Shaw snarled an obscenity at him.  
“Uh huh. You gonna bring down the Palace on your own head?” Other members of the Palace guard filed in, steadily. Shaw took a step away, grinning. Charles braced himself for the next explosion.  
“Sebastian Shaw.” A tired voice said. Charles clawed the tangle of cloth away and saw King Darkholme had entered by another door. Eyes wide, Charles forced himself to his feet. A complicated expression flickered across Shaw’s face.

“Majesty, there has been a conspiracy.” He said, urgently. Charles found himself admiring the combination of brass faced gall and acting ability that made Shaw sound almost plausible.  
“So I heard you say.” The King said.   
“So we all heard you say.” A furious voice snarled. Charles’ heart warmed. Erik was there. An odd grimace passed over Lord Sebastian Shaw’s face. He tilted his head, rueful.  
“Knew I should have had _you_ strangled.” he said, not even looking at Erik. The King ignored this byplay.  
“Sebastian Shaw.”  
 _”Lord_ Shaw, if you please.” Shaw said, sweetly.

“Lord no longer, by my own will and statement.” The King said. “You are a traitor to the Crown and a miscreant; I declare so it before the members of the Council-“ and they were also there, the braver ones at least, boggling in the doorway- “Here present.” The king said, heavily. Sebastian looked furious, briefly. Then calculating. Charles felt himself tense.  
“And then what?” Shaw laughs. “Do you think you can arrest me? The sentence for treachery is death, isn’t it? How do you think you will manage that?”  
“Pretty sure we’ll have fun tryin’.” Logan said, lightly. “You gonna come quietly, bub?”  
Shaw sneered at him.

“Sebastian.” Charles said. “Please think about this. You cannot evade justice-“  
“ _Justice?!_ ” Shaw laughed. “I have held power in this island since before your grandparents were born; you think that I will be satisfied by-“  
“Power you hold no longer.” Darkholme said. “I declare your estates forfeit; your goods and monies-“  
“Thievery!” Shaw snapped. “How you do debase yourself, King, with this-“  
“Quit whinin’” Logan suggested. Charles put a hand to his head. Too many feelings; too soon after his bruising impact with the wall. A hand gripped Charles’s arm.  
“Are you all right?” Erik said, softly, in his ear. Shaw continued to rant.

“Headache.” Charles said. “Erik, what are we going to do?”  
“The King thought he could talk his Champion down and into arrest.” Erik said, quietly. He added, as the King and Shaw continued to talk “Also; when this is over, you are going to tell me just when you planned to get yourself alone with that predatory maniac; and precisely how that was going to _help._ ”  
“He’s obsessed.” Charles said, diffidently, looking at his boots. “And I thought, if I led him-“  
“Later.” Erik said, urgently. “I think he’s-“  
“No, I will not go quietly!” Shaw snapped. He swung round “And stop trying to creep up on, me, you-“ 

He reached out to seize the soldier who’d been edging around behind him. The man shouted and slashed at him with his drawn sword. Shaw simply grinned and flicked his wrist. The Palace Guard went horribly limp and silent as a roll of tiny detonations poured through him, shattering bones and severing nerves. The crowd at the door began to back away, muttering and terrified.  
“Do you see?” Shaw said, taunting. “You can do nothing to me, you- Weak, spineless scum, you would seek to reduce me to your level, scrabbling for scraps?”  
“If the extent of your ill-gotten gains in lands and titles can be described as scraps.” Charles said, calmly “Why are you so excited at the prospect of losing it, Shaw?” He offered the enraged man a thin smile. Erik tugged him backwards a few steps at the look on Shaw’s face. Shaw slammed his foot down on the floor again. The floor buckled further, and there was an ominous creaking noise amid the explosions. Shaw laughed again.  
“Your Majesty, you must withdraw!” Logan yelled. “Get him outta here!” he urged the guards around him. Lady Kitty darted forwards, seized the King’s arm and spoke to him. He nodded, and they whisked away, like shadows. 

 

Shaw bellowed.  
“I’ll not be ignored, put away like some-“  
“Pipe down, bub.” Logan said, calmly. Shaw rushed at him, and there was another detonation. The inner wall collapsed in a grinding roar. The two immortals grappled, briefly, and then Logan’s’ mangled body was flung aside, and Shaw ran on. Charles gazed at Logan, horrified. The amount of damage he had been dealt would keep the guard down for an hour, at least; and he was the best hope they had of defeating Shaw in combat. Unless…  
“We can’t let him get away.” Erik shouted. “Quickly!” They followed.

Charles stood very still, and stretched out his mind. He ignored Emma’s crazed ramblings, ignored Jeans’ sharp worry, Raven’s panic over her father’s sudden difficulty breathing. Ignored even Erik’s rage and determination to execute justice on Shaw. Shaw was racing through some hidden part of the palace, now, sure no one would stop him. In his mind were embryonic plans; plans to get to his estate; to unleash his servants and raise the banner of rebellion. Plans to contact his –allies- elsewhere. He had mis stepped in this peaceful game, so now-  
“Time for a game of war.” Charles said, aloud. “ _No._ ”

Shaw was grinning. Charles bit his lip and came to a decision. He did not know if he could do this. He definitely didn’t know if he could survive it. Shaw’s mind; like the rest of him, was powered and influenced by the man’s explosive Gift, and if his immortality was anything like Logan’s, likely protected from telepaths. But Charles could see the dark patterns in that mind; the delight there that came only from moving people like games pieces, and he could not let it poison Genosha; where he had learnt freedom, and his Gift, and- Erik. He steeled himself, and brought his mind down upon Lord Sebastian Shaw.

Shaw froze. Charles shuddered. His mind _hurt_ to touch, let alone trying to contain it. He sagged to the floor and held on. Shaw fought Charles, as he made the other Champion retrace his steps. Every step he made Shaw take felt like a tooth being drawn from Charles’s head, but he forced Shaw to keep moving, back into the corridors of the palace, and then, in the middle of the hallway, stand stock still, and wait. Erik’s eagerness, his rapidly moving mind, would find him very soon. Shaw sneered and snarled at him wildly. 

He spat verbal poison and offered wild bargains, nauseating nuggets of wealth or power or information he thought Charles would value as he did himself. Charles wanted to vomit. He held on, instead. Held on to Shaw as the man turned vicious, hissing threats and foul images into Charles’s mental ear. Held on as Shaw struggled like a trapped lion, clawing at the net. Held on as his eyes darkened and his breathing became irregular and Shaw laughed at him. Held on.

Erik, at the head of a party of Swords including Sean, pounded round the corner and came to a sudden stop. Charles forced Shaw to his knees. Shaw raved at him, briefly, but Charles did not let go. It was so difficult. Across the room from Charles’s body, Logan made a grunting noise. Absently, Charles was pleased, for a moment.  
 _-I’m holding him._ Charles said, through clenched mental teeth. _Immobilise him, quickly, please.-_ He could feel Erik’s grin through several walls and at least one floor.

Erik seized on the nearest metal- Sean’s actual sword. The boy yelped in dismay as he re-forged it into bonds hopefully capable of holding the fallen King’s Champion. Shaw hissed.  
“Little Erik Lehnsherr.” He crooned. Sean’s eyes went wide. Erik’s face did not move. Charles wanted to silence Sebastian; but he was not at all sure he could hold Shaw’s throat without choking him; or take away his words now and be able to return them later.   
_-Hurry, Erik-_ Charles said, urgently. Erik knelt by Shaw. The man continued to talk.  
“I killed your mother you know? Should have killed you then, too. Should have left you-”

Erik ignored him, stubbornly fixing a plaited chain around his waist. Manacles began to flower from it, but as Erik fastened Shaw’s left hand to one, the crazed man made a convulsive effort and briefly broke free of Charles’s telepathic grasp. Shaw flexed his right hand and a dagger dropped into it from his sleeve, which he then planted deep in Erik’s thigh. Erik shouted in pain. The burning agony of the slice in Erik’s leg, mingled with his own heart stopping panic, made Charles clumsy. He lashed out, seizing Shaw’s mind too hard, and, closing his grip too tightly, crushed it out of existence.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermaths.

When Charles awoke, he had a blissful moment of puzzlement, before he recalled the events immediately prior to his collapse over Logan’s feet. Once his initial bout of horror and relief was over, Charles made a rapid assessment of his situation. He was not in his rooms, bad. He was wearing a nightshirt and in clean linens, good. Erik was not there, bad. He wasn’t chained to the bed. Good. He thought there might be a lock on the door. Bad, but scarcely surprising. After what he had done; Charles was vaguely surprised to wake up at all. No matter that Shaw had by then been stripped of his titles, and was trying to flee detention by the King’s guards, or that he’d put everyone in the Palace at risk with his Gift, or even that he’d been planning on dragging the whole nation into endless bloody war to soothe his bruised ego. 

Charles had killed Shaw with just a thought. Although phrasing it like that made it seem deceptively easy, which it had not been, at all. His head ached. He had committed a crime. Charles wasn’t quite sure what the law would call it- a guilty action and a guilty intent were required, in the lawcourts- yet when thought was deed, how were the two ever separated? He tried to sit up and a bolt of pain lanced through his head, silvery and horrible. Charles gasped. His telepathy seemed curiously muted; unless there was no one who could be found who dared loiter around wherever he was being held. Where was he, anyway?

“You’re in one of the healing rooms, Charles, and you’re white as a sheet. Lie down.” Charles flinched; he had not noticed the door opening. He was not quite well, then. Charles swallowed, and breathed in. Surely Moira would tell him what he needed to know quickly. He just had to find the courage to ask.  
“Moira?” he croaked. The Sword smiled at him as she crossed to his bed. “I-is Erik-?”  
“Erik’s fine.” Moira said, kindly, as she poured water from the carafe into a glass. A vast wave of relief poured its way across Charles’ heart. He closed his eyes. Erik was not dead. Everything else could lived with.

Moira laughed. “In fact, he’s sitting up and grumbling because Josh Foley won’t come out of quarantine and fix his leg, so he can get up.” Charles wanted to rise up and call her blessed when she handed him the glass of water, but he was capable of a little self restraint.  
“Thank you.” He said, instead. She smiled. Charles pondered how pleasant the crinkles at the corners of her eyes made her face. He didn’t want to think of-  
“How are you feeling?” Moira asked, after a short pause. Charles thought for a moment and drew a deep breath.  
“I- my head hurts, and I don’t- my Gift hurts, too.” He was quiet for a moment. “But; um, if I, if they need me recovered, for the lawcourt, I’m well enough, I suppose.

“What?” Moira said, and Charles let himself meet her eyes for a moment.  
“I killed him, Moira.”  
“W- Shaw?” she said. He nodded.  
“He’s still breathing.” She said. “Which is more than he deserves, and we both know it.” “And- Charles, you don’t think that King Darkholme was going to send you to trial, or allow anyone else to try, for“ She broke off and looked at him, carefully. “You do think that.”   
“I crushed his _mind_ , Moira! I felt it fade out, I-” Charles said, and blinked, fiercely. All that rage, all that sick, twisted thinking had come from a person, one whom he’d destroyed, accidentally. He was no better than Shaw, not really.

“Charles.” Her tone was patient. “It’s the Champion’s duty to enforce the monarch’s will.” She paused. “Yes?” Moira said, firmly, when Charles did not respond immediately. He nodded, slowly.  
“And he _was_ resisting arrest, yes?” she prodded. “After the King had declared him a traitor, and so on?” He nodded again. But still- Charles had to-  
“He- oh, his mind is- was a _pit_ , Moira; he was busy planning a _war_ , because-“ Charles said, swallowing, and felt the glass deftly slid of out his hand.

“There will be no trial.” Moira said. The King held a hearing-“ He had? When had that been?  
“How long have I been out?” Charles said.  
“Three days, give or take.” Moira refilled the glass. “Logan said you folded up very neatly.”  
“Oh.” Charles said. “What did the King say?” He took the glass from Moira gratefully.  
“The hearing declared Shaw’s, ah, death of personality a lawful action, under the circumstances.” Moira said, and smiled, crookedly, as Charles twitched.  
“Is he doing more than breathing?” Charles said, hopefully.

“Yes, he is.” Erik said, from where he was leaning on the doorway and Sean. Moira swore. Charles sat up again, and ignored the headache. Erik limped into the room slowly, leaning on Sean at every step.  
“Sit down before you fall down!” Moira snapped. Erik did not argue, flopping onto the bed- and Charles, wearily. His left leg was thickly bandaged, but he didn’t appear to be too damaged, apart from his alarming pallor. Their hands tangled into each others’, without any apparent decision on Charles’ part. Charles clung to Erik’s hand almost fiercely.

“Erik, you should take more care of yourself!” Charles said. Erik gave him a weary smile.  
“He missed the artery. And when I heard you’d woken, of course I was going to come to you.”   
“You were _awesome_!” Sean said, enthusiastically, to Charles, as he rolled over to make way for Erik. “Shaw’s completely like a baby!” Charles winced.  
“Sean.” Erik said, between his teeth. Sean flinched.  
“Uh; that you didn’t kill him was awesome, I mean.   
“Didn’t I?” Charles said. Erik and Moira both scowled at Sean, who blanched and began to babble.

“The healers think he might be able to learn some stuff again. Like words, and, and some useful stuff.” He smiled hopefully at Charles. Charles nodded. So he hadn’t done any damage to the body, just the mind. He could not decide whether to hope or fear that Shaw was faking.   
“Oh” he said. “Do they- is he-“  
“Oh, he’s never going to be Shaw again, Jean said.” Sean said, and gave Charles a thumbs up. “Good job, sir!” Erik looked at him. “And I just, I gotta- I’ll see ya-“ He left, not quite running.

“Sean is an idiot.” Erik said. And his thumb rubbed comfortingly along Charles’ knuckles.  
“I wish-“ Charles said, and stopped.  
“What, Charles?”  
“Oh, I don’t know. That I’d thought about things more. That I hadn’t slipped. That-“  
“I wish you’d thought about things more.” Erik grumbled. “What were you thinking, planning to confront him alone like that? He could have hurt you.” Charles smiled, sadly.  
“I think I hurt him more.”  
“Yes, but I’m reasonably sure you stopped him from stabbing me in the artery, and I never liked him, so I’m quite glad you did.” Erik said, with an air of finality. 

Moira chuckled, and Erik scowled at her.  
“Oh, I’d rather Shaw got hurt than you, Charles.” She said. Charles sighed. “Now, there was some fuss over everything, but it’s dying down.”  
“Who’s been fussing, as you put it over Charles here defending the Crown- and the population of the Palace?” Erik snapped.   
“Not many; mostly Raven thinks they want to move in on the power vacuum Shaw’s left-“  
“Maybe they’re worried that he’s not gone.” Erik said. Moira nodded.  
“But, Charles, give it a little time to settle out-“  
“And everything will go back to normal?” Charles said, wryly.

“No.” Erik said, and Charles whipped his head round to catch Erik’s gaze so fast his neck hurt. “Things are going to be better than they were before.” Erik added firmly, and moved a hand up to Charles’s neck. His grip was not as strong as usual, but Charles shut his eyes, as Erik squeezed some of the tension out of his neck, slowly and steady.  
“Right.” Moira said. “Erik, I’m going to go find the healer and tell her you got out of bed. So you’ve probably got ten minutes.” She grinned, and ducked out of the room.

Erik cursed.  
“Are you going to be in trouble?” Charles asked, tentatively.  
“Only with the nurse.” Erik said ruefully. “Otherwise, no, no more than you.” He caught at Charles’ chin as he looked down. “And you are not in trouble Charles. You did your duty.”  
“Erik, I killed a man! Even if his body is still-“  
“So?” Erik said, quickly. “I’ve killed, too-“  
“In battle, I’m sure.” Charles said.  
“Yes, and you think Shaw would have stopped fighting at any point?” Erik said, eyes shrewd. Charles had to concede the point.

“Alright. But I can’t… Don’t ask me to feel good about it.” Charles blinked.  
“I won’t.” Erik said, softly. He bit back a yawn. “Damn.”  
“Damn?”  
“I was hoping I could stay _awake_ for all of the ten minutes, is all.” Erik said, eyes heavy. Charles looked at him more closely. Erik was still pale and worn looking.  
“You rest.” Charles said. “I’ll protect you from the wrath of the nurse.” He ran his fingers through Erik’s short, auburn, hair, soothingly. Erik’s eyes drooped shut. “I promise.” Charles half-whispered.  
Erik’s only response was a snore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close to the end of this story, but fret ye not; there is a third story in the works, tenatively entitled "Token Courtship."
> 
>  
> 
> I wonder what that one will be about?


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of this story: a few new developments, and business as usual, for the Champion-elect of Genosha.
> 
> Note:  
>  There are some oblique references to child abuse that takes place off stage in this chapter. Also non-graphic references to the unpleasant fate reserved for child abusers in Genosha.

Charles recovered from his exertions swiftly. Perhaps too swiftly; now some people were obviously afraid of him. They didn’t meet his eye; backed away and tried not to come close enough to touch, as if he, Charles, was some wild beast. Charles wouldn’t have minded that so much, apart from the fact that, quite often, their minds would be shouting steadily at him all the things they were most afraid of Charles learning about them. He was glad he’d developed such a poker face in the years Before Genosha; because some of them were in fact, quite funny.

Others were not; in fact one minor noble had been doing such things to his children, and any other powerless, easily disposed of children, that Charles had had to do something. He had sought guidance from Jean, and with her advice and Erik support, laid the matter before the King. Darkholme was rapidly growing frailer now, but his mind was far from weak. He set Logan on to spy on the man; and the second he attempted to harm a child- an orphan, taken on as a servant- Logan prevented him. Forcefully. Logan also happily forced what was left of the man to stand a fair trial; and, once he’d been found guilty, completed the sentence he’d begun to carry out when he’d discovered the crime. 

This, Charles was pleased with. He could hardly, much as he’d like to, sweep down upon anyone who so incriminated themselves to him. There were some evils that had to be fought with any and every weapon to hand; and the suffering of children was one of them. However, he was Champion-elect, and so, like his Lady, Charles had to be seen to stand for the rule of law. Not to mention that it would be all too easy to be believed to be accusing the innocent for personal or political gain. Fortunately, the wheeling, dealing and politicking mood at Court was somewhat subdued, since Lord Shaw’s spectacular fall from power and grace. 

There was some scrambling for the former King’s Champion’s lands and resources, but King Darkholme had refused to grant them to anyone, whoever they were and however they pleaded or coaxed.  
“I’m afraid, my boy, we’ll have to do that sooner or later.” He’d said to Charles, in a private meeting. “But not until that Sword of yours cleans house for me. Who knows what or who Shaw kept on his own lands?”   
“Erik is hardly _my_ Sword, sire.” Charles protested. The king had smiled. Charles had been worried; knowing he had sworn to place his loyalty and service to Raven above all else, but with the King’s and Raven’s approval so obvious, he had relaxed.

Certainly, the complete lack of surprise from, oh, just about everyone when Erik was hunted down by an enraged nurse, only to be discovered asleep in Charles’ bed should have told him that such relationships between Swords were acceptable. But the nurse’s wrath had been such that placating her had been the only thing on his mind. It had taken some doing. During which, Erik had stayed asleep, an unhelpful and faintly snoring lump that Charles still suspected of staying asleep deliberately. Erik had denied it; but he had also been smiling.

Charles might have complained about it; but Erik had kissed him, in apology, and that kiss- light, but certain, on the corner of his mouth, had rather distracted him. As had Erik’s slowly creeping hand. Before it could wander into dangerous territory, however, they’d hit a slight snag in their explorations: Charles’s telepathy. His barriers and shields, which were not exactly of old foundation, anyway, tended to waver when he felt something very strongly. Jean sympathised, but he could feel her giggling, the second or third time Charles inadvertently broadcast how Erik made him feel.

That also didn’t help people within the Court get over how they felt about Charles and his powers. Erik was starting to complain about the number of people who turned pink when they met him. Amongst other things. Charles did his best to learn more barriers quickly; the way Erik looked at him suggested to him that when their relationship progressed beyond , well, kissing, and touching, he’d need them. The progression was slow, but steady. Erik was no longer afraid he’d hurt his love accidently, and Charles was less afraid he would confuse Erik with the people from his days as a slave.   
The telepathy actually helped with that; which made Charles accept his new Gift more eagerly. It was hard to be afraid that the person touching him would do anything without his consent, when that person was _Erik_. Thanks to his Gift, Charles could feel Erik’s mind trembling against his own; burning with love and reverence and desire for Charles’s own happiness, as his hands moved over the new territories of Charles’s skin. Seeing the little starbursts of pleasure and surprised joy in Erik’s mind when Charles touched him back was also... quite addictive.

“Charles.” He looked up from the doodle he’d been drawing his parchment.  
“My Lady?” he said, innocently. Raven snorted.  
“Your ears are pink. Again. Stop thinking about Erik, for a moment.”  
“He’s still away.” Charles said, sadly, without thinking. He turned pinker.  
“Something else to blame Shaw for.” Raven said, sympathetically. “But- this is more serious.”  
“What is it?” Charles sat up straight and did his best to look useful.

“Westchester.” Raven said, grimly, pulling out a small pile of parchment reports.  
“My Lady?” Charles said. Normally tact, or delicacy or just plain distaste kept most people from discussing the country in his earshot.  
“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you we’ve never, as nations seen eye to eye.” Raven said. She hesitated and bit her lip. “Father is growing tired. I’m trying to… ease the burden. Before- her voice wavered. “Before it’s too late.” She squared her shoulders. Charles’ throat ached. He knew what she was telling him. The King of Genosha was not long for this world.

“How may I serve?” Charles said, warmly. Raven blinked away a tear.  
“I- well. It’s embarrassing, but their Ambassador has been making complaints about you.”  
“I’ve never even met the man.” Charles protested. “Or is that-“  
“No, no.” Raven said, swiftly. “He just- it’s the slavery issue again.”   
“Again?” Charles said, throat tight.  
“They don’t recognise the freeing-“  
“Of any slave, yes, I know.” Charles said. He swallowed. “But- but Genosha does.” He tried not to let his tone waver.

Raven’s quick squeeze of his hand told Charles he wasn’t successful.  
“Oh, father told him that- still tells him that, repeatedly.” She smiled. “But he’s making noises about being forced to associate or deal with slaves, and-“  
“That’s nonsense.” Charles cut in.  
“Because you’re not a slave, yeas  
No, my Lady. Because in Westchester, I could still be your sworn Sword and a slave- only they call them bound bodyguards.”  
“Isn’t trusting someone you own to protect you a bit-“

“They raise them specially.” Charles said, harshly. There was a pause before he could get himself to continue. “In any case, that’s a false argument. He’s _not_ forced to associate with me. Politically, I can only ever be your mouthpiece, your arm,” Raven made a face. He smiled at her.  
“And I count that an _honour._. Even when you are Queen, I won’t be more than an extremely well armed private secretary, in Westchesterian terms. not” He waved a hand. “Perfectly acceptable roles for a slave, even-“   
“YOU aren’t a slave.” Raven said, in clipped tones. Charles smiled, crookedly.  
“No, my lady. I am not. Except in the eyes of Westchester.”

“Well, I shan’t hear his grievance.” Raven said. Charles cocked his head.  
“Why not? Are you afraid he’ll change your mind?”  
“No.” Raven said. Enlightenment dawned across her face. “So. You think I should hear him out?”  
“He won’t be able to complain I’m restricting his access to you, should you do.” Charles pointed out. “And he might be able to tell you why they started to make a noise about me, or slavery, or whatever, _now_. Raven looked at him, thoughtfully.

“You know- you’ve come a long way, Charles.”  
“Very slowly, yes.” He smiled. “Why-“  
“Because I remember when you first came here, and after- you do realise you never worried about going back; when I brought up Westchester?”  
“I know you all, now.” Charles pointed out. “You’d never surrender anyone into slavery. Any of you.” Raven smiled.   
“That’s part of it, I suppose.” Yes, it was. Charles thought. The other part- that he didn’t think he needed to say aloud- was that he no longer, even in his nightmares- thought of himself as a slave, or even an ex-slave. He thought of himself as Genoshan.

“This is some political maneuver on their part- either the Ambassador or the King of Westchester is hoping to make some capital from this.  
“What?” Raven said, sharply. Her eyes glittered with anger. “Because I’m not having them drag slavery into Genosha, not in any form. Gravely, Charles nodded.  
“I’ll find out, my Lady. Do we have other matters to discuss?”

Raven smiled more brightly.  
“Now, we have Kitty’s inauguration as King’s Champion to arrange.” She said, happily.  
“She did very well protecting the King, didn’t she?” Charles said. “I’ve already got the Swords with fine handwriting volunteering their skills to the secretaries for invitation-writing duty.”  
“Erik sent word that Shaw’s old estates held large reserves of food; we can use much of it for the kitchens, rather than spoil it.” Raven said, sorting through more papers.  
“Now, as for decorations…” Charles said, thoughtfully.

The discussion between Champion-Elect and Lady went on for hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. That's over. Phew. A bit of a rest and then on, on to the third story! Which will be hopefully ligher and funnier in tone.


End file.
